A Landscape-Level Management Approach for the Saline Valley Salt Tram

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For the Sake of Salt: A Landscape-Level Management Approach for the Saline Valley Salt Tram

Laurel E. Lueders

A thesis submitted to

Sonoma State University

Rohnert Park, California

in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of

MASTER OF ARTS

Cultural Resource Management

Dr. Laura Watt

Dr. Margret Purser

Greg Haverstock, M.A.

May 3rd, 2019

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For the Sake of Salt: A Landscape-Level Management Approach for the Saline Valley Salt Tram Thesis by Laurel E. Lueders

ABSTRACT Purpose: The intent of this thesis is to propose a collaborative landscape level management strategy for the Saline Valley Salt Tram (SVST). This unique aerial tramway was placed on the National Register of Historic Places (NRHP) in 1974 and was the first tramway to traverse an entire mountain range. With the passing of the California Desert Protection Act of 1994, this historically significant site was placed within three separate federal land managing agencies jurisdictions: Death Valley National Park (DVNP), Bureau of Land Management (BLM) Ridgecrest Field Office, and BLM Bishop Field Office. Due to this, this structure has been managed with three distinct perspectives. The goal of this study is to utilize the SVST as an example for promoting holistic landscape level preservation for cultural resources that traverse borders.

Methods: A review of available literature, past and present management plans, applicable legislation, and archival material was conducted in order to create a framework for conceptualizing the current state of the Saline Valley Salt Tram. In addition, the western slope of the project area was examined as a case study for comprehensive landscape management. A pedestrian survey was conducted and two other phases of historic manipulation of the landscape were discovered: a cluster of charcoal reduction sites that predate the SVST, and the modern interactions via a cherry- stemmed four-wheel drive road that acts as an access road into the Inyo Mountain Wilderness. Each of these three human interactions with the landscape were recorded and compiled onto Geospatial Inform System (GIS) Map.

Findings: Discussions with employees of DVNP, BLM Ridgecrest Field Office, and BLM Bishop Field Office highlighted both similarities and differences in each agency’s belief regarding management of a NRHP site that sits within a designated wilderness. By focusing on the western slope for the case study, a pattern in natural and human disturbances was noted amongst SVST structures.

Conclusions: The management dilemma surrounding the SVST stems directly from the restructuring of borders that placed the SVST across three agencies dominion and wilderness designations that were placed on land that has an extensive history of human manipulation. Acknowledging these factors, alongside reshaping how the public defines wilderness, are the first steps in unifying management. Recently, the California Desert Protection and Recreation Act of 2019 has passed which redefines borders between the National Park Service and BLM while designating large swathes of wilderness across southern California. Therefore, establishing the possibility of potential for fragmentation of a cultural resource.

MA Program: Cultural Resource Management Sonoma State University Date: May 3rd, 2019 v

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This thesis would not have been possible without the support and encouragement of many people.

I want to begin by first thanking Dr. Laura Watt and Dr. Margaret Purser, for without their constant support, enthusiasm, and guidance this project would not be completed. I have been incredibly lucky to have a Chair and committee member who cared so deeply about my work. When discussing cultural landscapes, you both harness this infectious excitement and our conversations both during and outside of class were some of the most impactful of my graduate career.

Secondly, a big thanks goes out to Greg Haverstock of the BLM Bishop Field Office for his mentorship over the years. Not only did you take me under your wing early on in my studies by teaching me the basics of federal archaeology, but you provided me with an example of someone who carries themselves with respect when managing cultural resources. You always made time for me, even when I would stop by the office unannounced, to hear my thoughts or offer advice about my project and career trajectory. Thank you for everything, and I could not have asked for a better mentor.

This thesis is heavily indebted to Jane Lakeman of Death Valley National Park and Marty Dickies of BLM Ridgecrest Field Office for without whom this project would not have expanded beyond the early parameters of my Direct Hire Authority Internship. Similarly, thank you to the staff members at the Maturango Museum and the Eastern California Museum who allowed me to pour over archival material at your repositories over the span of weeks with a fine-tooth comb. This project would not have been possible without your records and I am appreciative that you allowed me access.

Thank you to Kari Lentz, Robert Watson, and cohorts of 2015, 2016, and 2017 for your friendship and moral support. The thesis process is not easy, and it was comforting to be surrounded by such determined people all working towards the same goal.

To the fellow BLM Bishop Field Office staff who volunteered their time to assist in surveying the salt tram, thank you. I know you all have busy work schedules and it meant a lot that you carved out time to act as my safety buddies. I hope you found as much enjoyment out of our field days as I did.

Lastly, a big thank you to my family and friends who all supported me by keeping me on track during this process and providing me with the occasional distractions. Everything from volunteering your day to hike the tramway with me to allowing me to verbalize my frustrations without judgment, your backing did not go unnoticed or unappreciated. Special thanks to my spouse, Blake Hubbard, who endured thousands of hours of conversation revolving the salt tram, always volunteered his R&R days between wildfires to survey with me and was there to refocus me when I was lacking motivation. Without you I would not have made it through this process, and I am forever grateful for your love and support. vi

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Acknowledgements………………………………………………………………………v Figures………………………………………………….………………………….…...viii I. Introduction…………………………………………………..…………..……………1 Goal of Study……………………………………………………………………...2 Theoretical Framework……………………………………………………………3 Organization of Study……………………………………………………………..5 II. Project Background…………………………………………………………………..6 Aerial Tramways…………………………………………………………………..6 Keane Wonder Mine………………………………………………………………8 Beveridge Mining District……………………...……………………...………...10 Cerro Gordo……………………………………………………………………...11 Saline Valley Salt Tram………………………………………………………….15 Construction of the Saline Valley Salt Tram…………………………….16 Phases of Operation and Ownership of the Saline Valley Salt Tram……18 Layers of Historic Use on the Landscape………………………………………..27 Charcoal Burners………………………………………………………...28 The Swansea Grade……………………………………………………....31 The California Desert Protection Act of 1994…………………………………...33 Death Valley National Park……………………………………………...38 The Wilderness Act of 1964……………………………………………..39 Bureau of Land Management Ridgecrest Field Office…………………..40 Bureau of Land Management Bishop Field Office……………………....42 Why Landscape Preservation Could Be the Answer………………………….…45 III. Management of Landscapes……………………………………………………….46 What is a Cultural Landscape?...... 46 Westward Expansion………………………………………………….....48 Wilderness is not Truly Wild…………………………………………….51 Constriction of Landscapes via Borders……………………………………...... 53 Fragmentation………………………………………………………...... 55 Linear Features…………………………………………………………...56 Collaboration Based Landscape Projects………………………………...57 Industrial Archaeology…………………………………………………………...61 Roadways as a Landscape………………………………………………..62 Spatial Awareness………………………………………………………………..64 Creating Maps as a Representation of a Landscape……………………...65 Inventory of a Landscape………………………………………………...67 Landscapes Consist of Layers…………………………………………....68 Preserving a Landscape does not Equate to Freezing One Aspect…………...... 69 Modern Landscape Interactions………………………………………….72 IV. Methods of Data Collection………………………………………..……………...75 Landscape Designation as a Form of Preservation………………………………75 Correspondence Between Parties………………………………………………...76 Archival Research………………………………………………………………..80 vii

Case Study of Landscape Preservation on the Western Slope of the Saline Valley Salt Tram…………………………………………….…………………………...81 Historic Photographs……………………………………………………………..82 Intensive Pedestrian Survey……………………………………………………...85 Recording Tower Structures and Sites…………………………………………...87 Recording Charcoal Reduction Sites…………………………………………….90 Recording the Swansea Grade…………………………………………………...91 Mapping the Western Slope……………………………………………………...92 V. Conclusions………………………………………………………………………..…94 Areas of Further Research……………………………………………………….95 Saline Valley Salt Tram is One Piece of a Larger Network……………………..95 Charcoal Reduction Sites………………………………………………………...96 Stewardship Projects with Off-Highway Vehicle Groups…………………….....97 Continuation of Survey…………………………………………………………..98 What’s Next?...... 99 Appendix A: Salt Tram Checklist… ……………………………...…………………102 Appendix B: Copyright Image Permissions…………………………………………106 References Cited………………………………….………….……………...…...…….108

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FIGURES 1 Figure 1: Topographical location map of the SVST. Image used with permission from ASCE...... 14

Figure 2: “The Saline Valley Salt Fields with a crop of salt ready for ‘harvest’. Image is from the David Hill Collection and used with permission from the ECM………21

Figure 3: Image shows landscape panorama of Saline Valley Terminus, pier, and salt field. Image from David Hill Collection and used with permission from ECM....22

Figure 4: “View of Salt Field from Control Station No. 1 Difference in elevation of salt field and station is 2,600 feet." Image shows eastern slope with tower line leading to the Saline Valley terminus. Image from the David Hill Collection and used with permission from the ECM…………………………………....….………….23

Figure 5: Image shows man riding a bucket up the eastern slope of the tram. Image is from the David Hill Collection and used with permission from the ECM………24

Figure 6: Image shows bucket #20 heading down the western slope. The Swansea Grade is visible between the bucket and tower across the canyon. Image is from the David Hill Collection and used with permission from the ECM………...………25

Figure 7: Image shows bucket coming down western slope of Inyos with American flag draped on the bucket. Image from the David Hill Collection and used with permission from the ECM……………..…………………..…………………..…26

Figure 8: Image shows bucket returning to the Owens Valley terminus with salt piled up for distribution. Image is from the David Hill collection and used with permission by the ECM…………………………….………………………………………...27 Figure 9: Profile of the Saline Valley Salt Tram. Image used with permission from the ASCE…………………………………………………………………………….37

Figure 10: "Station 20, at the summit, looking southeast" from the David Hill Collection. Image used with permission from the ECM……………….….…………………84

Figure 11: Photo of summit station after cabin stabilization project. Image used with permission from BLM Bishop Field Office………………………..………….…85

Chapter I: Introduction

Borders are often depicted to be fixed, immutable manmade or geographical features.

However, the historical record provides numerous examples of boundaries changing to reflect shifting political atmospheres. Domestically the boundaries between public land managers can shift with the passing of a bill or a change in administrative views. A change in bureaucratic delineations establishes a ripple effect of confusion for managing cultural resources that overlap boundaries or were previously far away from the borderline. This thesis proposes that cultural resources that span borders should be managed at a landscape level with the viewpoint of examining them as a single unit.

The Saline Valley Salt Tram (SVST) is a prime example of a cultural resource that traverses multiple federal land management agencies domains and has been managed with three distinct perspectives. The passing of the California Desert Protection Act (CDPA) in 1994 situated the tram across three agencies’ management: Death Valley National Park (DVNP),

Bureau of Land Management (BLM) Ridgecrest Field Office, and BLM Bishop Field Office.

Due to this, the one-of-a-kind aerial tramway, that was listed on the National Register of Historic

Places (NRHP) in 1974, has since been subjected to three different management approaches, resulting in three stages of degradation. To promote comprehensive preservation of this unique tramway, the structure should be collaboratively preserved as a landscape.

Cultural landscapes are inherently fluid and therefore cannot be constricted by borders.

This approach was proposed for this thesis with the understanding that all three managing parties could manage the tram as one unit, rather than three separate segments. Collaborative projects that manage linear features as landscapes are not unusual, however they are mostly directed towards historic trails and roadways (Griffine and Gurcke 2011; McNair 2009; Church 2017). 2

Similarly, cooperative projects that focus on ecosystems across private, state, and public land are common when their goal is supporting the health and restoration efforts for the region (Skillen

2009; Enzer and Geobel 2014). Collaborative projects that aim to view the resource holistically should be a viable option for industrial linear features that span multiple borders.

Goal of Study

This thesis argues for the SVST to be preserved at a landscape level in order to preserve the structure as a whole instead of three separate portions. To address this, previous and current management practices from DVNP, the Ridgecrest Field Office, and the Bishop Field Office have been examined. Each stakeholder has a specific outlook towards managing the tramway and it is important to conceptualize how each portion evolved to their current state. Land status, wilderness designations, and legislative bills all played a role in shaping the existing boundary lines and the decisions each party made regarding their management approaches. Landscape level management requires cooperation across agencies and allows the structure to present one unified story.

To test whether landscape level management is feasible, the western slope of the SVST was used as a case study. This thesis progressed from a Direct Hire Authority (DHA) internship with the BLM Bishop Field Office where the goal was to record the tower structures of the

SVST. The project expanded to an intensive pedestrian survey of the western slope recording sites from all historic layers along the path of the SVST. The survey recorded two phases of historic interactions with the landscape beyond the SVST: charcoal pit reduction sites along the ridgeline of the Inyos, and the Swansea Grade, a cherry-stemmed four-wheel drive (4x4) trail that turns off highway 136 and weaves between the SVST up to the summit station. The western slope was utilized as a case study to test whether a collaborative management approach informed 3 by cultural landscape theory could improve protection for this historic structure. If successful, this approach could be applied to a variety of boundary-crossing cultural resources.

Theoretical Framework

At its core, this project argues for the application of collaborative cultural landscape management to a linear industrial cultural resource. An interdisciplinary discussion requires the contextual background for this thesis. Foundations in environmental science and cultural resource management blend together to create a unified story. A cultural landscape framework was chosen because it applies a multidisciplinary approach in to addressing each historical interaction layered in the landscape, and landscapes that cross borders require collaboration because they are dynamic. Both ideas were central to this project.

Identifying what constitutes a cultural landscape and conceptualizing it within the realm of land designations is key to this project. Geographers Carl Sauer and Paul Groth emphasize that a landscape is constructed of both morphological features and the cultural interactions with the land (Sauer 1925; Groth 1997). Both the natural and cultural characteristics are important because they create a symbiotic relationship, resulting in a cultural landscape. However, when land designations that value the natural, or biological, importance are placed on regions that have rich cultural use, problems arise. This is evident in many wilderness designations that attempt to remove or limit the cultural aspects of the land (Watt 2002). By acknowledging the cultural and natural aspects the landscape can be preserved holistically and not ignored in favor of a false public perception of wilderness.

Understanding that landscapes are dynamic because they are dependent on interactions with the land, not the physical borders themselves was a principle foundation for this project.

Examining resources within the framework of a cultural landscape can not only provide a central 4 viewpoint but also avoid fragmentation (Taylor 2002). For cultural resources that traverse borders, such as historic roadways and trails, presenting a unified story through their management is vital for their future preservation. Each linear feature acts as a link between regions of a landscape; combined, they create intricate networks across territories. Collaborative projects have become the core of unified preservation projects who aim to manage and interpret linear features holistically.

Examining a site as a cultural landscape requires the impacts of interactions to be visible across the landscape. This is easily applicable to industrial sites that are directly dependent on natural resources. Industrial sites also leave lasting indicators of their existence, not only in their extractive nature but also through spatial distribution (Hardesty 2000). For example, roadways and trails between mine sites highlight a larger network of consumerism across a landscape.

Noting the spatial awareness of sites through physical links and their placement to natural resources is important for establishing a complete representation of a landscape.

Comprehensively inventorying and mapping the landscape is important for an all- inclusive depiction of the resource. Landscapes are built upon repeated uses, therefore resulting in a multitude of layered interactions. Archival research coupled with an inventory of the physical remains left on the landscape can aid in denoting each historic use of the land. Once each layer is distinguishable, a map can be created that further highlights the spatial distribution of sites alongside each historic use. Generating a map that illustrates a cultural landscape demands that each layer be represented equally.

Presenting a unified story through preserving each layer of historic use is often viewed as an unfavorable avenue of preservation by managers. Instead, one aspect of the landscape’s history is selected to present to the public forgoing all other chapters of the land’s interactions. 5

This can cause fragmentation of a landscape, resulting in inaccurately preserving or representing the landscape’s complete past. These ignored interactions can range from prehistoric site significance to modern site tourism. However, in order to present a unified and truthful depiction of the landscape each layered interaction needs to be acknowledged and identified.

Organization of the Study

This thesis presents its research in five distinct chapters. Chapter Two discusses the historical overview of the SVST, the charcoal reduction sites, and a description of the Swansea

Grade while contextualizing the study area within the three managing parties designated by the

California Desert Protection Act of 1994 (CDPA). Chapter Three focuses on how landscape theory is applicable to management practices while providing examples of holistic landscape management across borders. Chapter Four follows with a description of the methods utilized to collect, analyze, and present the data. Chapter Five discusses avenues of further research, stewardship possibilities, and the upcoming California Desert Protection and Recreation Act

(CDPRA) that has the potential to mimic its predecessor’s impacts on cultural resources.

Chapter II: Project Background

The SVST has been on the NHRP since 1974. However, the tram was designated as one large encompassing rectangle that starts on BLM Bishop Field Office’s jurisdiction, passes through BLM Ridgecrest Field Office land, and ends within DVNP. Due to this, the tram is split into three separate sections that correspond to its managing party. DVNP, while being required to be highly accountable for cultural resources within park lands, has chosen to let the segment of the tram that they manage slowly deteriorate almost completely. The BLM Ridgecrest section is the most intact; however, it is nearly inaccessible due to the steep terrain. The BLM Bishop portion, also the largest managing portion, is mostly intact and easily accessible by technically demanding 4x4 vehicle trails.

While each of the managing parties ultimately determines how their segment of the

SVST is managed, fragmented preservation of the same structure is not beneficial to the SVST as a whole. The tramway has a rich history of documentation, spanning from primary sources to legislative, that presents the structure in a unified manner. This chapter will first define what an aerial tramway is, followed by a brief examination contextualizing significant tramways neighboring the SVST. Accompanying this is an in-depth discussion of the unique construction, ownership, and economical misfortunes of the SVST alongside previous and current land uses.

The chapter ends with a review of the legislation that reassigned land designations resulting in the current federal agencies managing portions and a proposal of analyzing the SVST as a cultural landscape.

Aerial Tramways

Extractive industries like mining once were the backbone of the American West’s history: “The settlement of the American West was directly dependent on the extraction of 7 resources including minerals, precious metals, timber, and the commerce that resulted” (Porter and Anthony 2013: 990). This reliance on the landscape and its resources leaves a permanent mark on a site. What makes these sites so unique is that many went through a series of years of heavy utilization, only to later be abandoned once the resource was depleted or the economy plummeted. Prime examples of this are the aerial tramways that became popular in the West during the late 1800s through the mid-1900s (Porter and Anthony 2013; Trennert 2001).

Aerial tramways, also simply known as trams, played a specific role in extractive industries. An aerial tramway is defined as:

“a large-capacity, very economical system for conveying ore or coal from a mine to a

processing or storage facility. Transport is affected by means of steel buckets (or aerial

skips) suspended by carriers fixed to an endless steel rope strung along pulleys on pylons.

The buckets were usually filled manually from a chute at the upper end and emptied

automatically at the lower end. Aerial tramways were generally considered superior to

self-acting inclines in most situations. Aerial systems required minimal surface

preparation, could traverse undulating terrain more readily, and required much less

maintenance (Richie and Hooker 1997: 11).”

They were often built for increasing the speed at which the resource leaves the site and arrives at its destination, thus increasing the profit margins of the industry. In most cases, trams were built to replace previous methods of transporting resources like mule trains, wagons, and trucks

(Trennert 2001). While trams served an immediate economical need for the extractive industry, most were only used for a short time—yet many remnants still survive in some part today.

Tramways filled a specific niche within the extractive industry. Not only do they illustrate a period in which dramatic technological advancements were being made, but they also 8 illustrate the economical background of the builders, based on the resources used to construct the tramway. Tramways that were built from specialized designs or site-specific construction illustrate the financial depth of the mine proprietors. Conversely, others that relied on localized raw materials during construction convey a different story of determination and resourcefulness.

However, because they were erected for transporting material across rugged or steep terrain, they pose difficult scenarios for preservation: “Surviving timber structures from this time period provide a fascinating glimpse of this stage of national development, but the temporary nature of the construction, the use of relatively ephemeral materials in harsh exposure conditions, and the absence of any maintenance following deaccession or abandonment result in unique challenges to their preservation (Porter and Anthony 2013: 991). For example, in the eastern Sierra region of California, the arid climate and extreme winds represent major hurdles for land managers who are tasked with preserving tramways. As a way of situating the circumstances posed at the

SVST, a brief review of several neighboring trams and the management approaches utilized in their preservation will be discussed.

Keane Wonder Mine

While tramways are not exclusive for the eastern California region, the area’s harshness provided an apt environment for tramway development. DVNP has recorded over twenty individual tramway or cableway sites within the park’s boundaries (Trennert 2001). These sites range from simplistic builds of a few hundred feet to complex networks that act as the backbone for large mines. One of the more prominent tramways within the park would be the Keane

Wonder Mine in the western slope of the Funeral Mountains.

The Keane Wonder Mine was created by Jack Keane and Domingo Etcharren in 1904

(Varney 1990). The mine was founded when the owners, who were originally looking for a silver 9 deposit, struck gold. Operations began in 1904, but the mine was not completed until 1907

(Trennert 2001; Varney 1990; NPS 2017). The mine location included a twenty-stamp mill that consisted of twenty weights linearly arranged to pound, or “stamp”, ore for processing and a double rope tramway that measured about a mile linking the mine itself to the stamp mill. This operation, ran by Keane Wonder Gold Mining Company, worked until 1942 and was touted as one of the most successful gold mines in the region (Trennert 2001; NPS 2017).

The huge success of the mine, coupled with the unique gravity-fed system of the tram, is what makes this site a popular tourist destination. From the mill site, the tramway climbs about one thousand feet up to the mine (NPS 2017). The tramway itself is small but provides visitors with an easily accessible example of aerial tramways. By standing at the stamp mill, the sightseer can easily imagine what Keane Wonder would have looked like during its peak of five years of continual use (Varney 1990). Due to this, the Park Service invested in a large restoration project that took place from 2008 to 2017. This project focused on stabilizing the tramway and minimizing safety concerns along the mine site and trails for visitors (NPS 2017).

The Keane Wonder Mine has profited in more than just an economical-mining sense from its location. The site is positioned near other popular visitor sites, such as Devil’s Cornfield,

Salt Creek, and Hell’s Gate, making it more likely to have higher visitation numbers than other tramways within the park. However, the convenience of its location does not make this tramway exceptional. “Despite its location, the Keane Wonder tramway resembled many other western tramways” (Trennert 2001: 80). This site provides the public with an excellent quick glimpse into the world of America’s western tramways, but Keane’s tramway is lackluster when compared to more complex ones nearby.

Beveridge Mining District

Just past the western park boundary, within the southern Inyo Mountain range is the

Beveridge Mining District. This site, which is home to another tramway, is a stark contrast to

Keane Wonder in setting, building materials, and years of operations. The tram at Beveridge is important to highlight because it predates many tramways in the surrounding area.

The Beveridge Mining District is a series of hard rock mines, mining camps, and sparse rock buildings located on the eastern side of the Inyo Mountains downslope of New York Butte.

The district encompasses a large swath of the Beveridge Canyon, which is one of the more remote mining sites in the Inyo range (Swope 1993; Budlong 1992; Watson 2011). The district is situated within a designated wilderness area managed by the Ridgecrest Field Office. Due to this, the only way to enter the site would be to hike from Saline Valley at base of the Inyos vertically up the canyon, drive to New York Butte via a highly technical OHV route and then backpack down Beveridge Canyon, or be flown in by helicopter (Budlong 1992; Swope 1993). Because the site is so remote, visitors must painstakingly plan to visit it—unlike Keane where they can pull their car over and have lunch.

Since Beveridge has been shrouded in isolation since its inception, the construction of structures on site proved difficult. Many of the buildings, including the five-stamp mill and the aerial tramway, were erected utilizing nearby materials. For example, the stations and towers of the tramway were crudely constructed with logs of pinyon pine and secured to bedrock slabs with bailing wire and heavy bolts (Swope 1993). These construction techniques highlight the resourcefulness required to survive in Beveridge during its heyday: “Readily available forest resources made timber structures relatively inexpensive and easy to build; they could be put into service quickly and were adequate to immediate needs” (Porter and Anthony 2013: 990). While 11 the tramway seems haphazardly built, it is one of the most photographed features within the

Beveridge Mining District because it still stands (Budlong 1992; Watson 2011).

Beveridge, like many other mining camps, went through waves of habitation. The mines within the district were operating mainly during the 1860s and 1870s, with smaller brackets of occupancy spanning until the early 1930s (Watson 2011). Periods of tenancy are evident through the minimal historical documentation from the site and by examining stamps and makers plates left on the larger machinery such as the stamp mill and the tramway buckets. The stamp mill dates to 1883, and the makers plates on the tramway’s ore buckets are stamped with 1894 and

1897 (Watson 2011; Swope 1993). However, these features were not in continual use. Swope inspected the tramway’s cables for her doctorate and inferred via the relative lack of wear that the tramway “was not used for any great length of time” (Swope 1993: 300). This supports the notion that even though Beveridge was extremely isolated, it witnessed booms and busts like other mining districts.

Cerro Gordo

Another site south of the Beveridge Mining District that grew overnight was the town of

Cerro Gordo, located on the western slope of the Inyo Mountain range. Silver and lead deposits were first discovered at Cerro Gordo in 1865, and the town rapidly expanded once Owens Valley locals recognized the high quality of the silver coming out of Cerro Gordo (Cerro Gordo

Historical Foundation 2017). Early smelters were built in the 1870s and Cerro Gordo grew to become a “silver finger” that fed directly to the city of Los Angeles via steamboat and mule trains (Cerro Gordo Historical Foundation 2017; Trennert 2001). After a brief closure in the

1890s, the town and mines of Cerro Gordo were sold to Great Western Ore Purchasing and

Reduction Company and began mining for zinc. This created a second boom in production for 12 the town and highlighted the town’s need for advanced methods of moving material downslope to the awaiting train terminal for the Southern Pacific Railroad (Trennert 2001).

In 1908 a tramway linking the mines to the train terminal at Keeler was constructed.

After being retrofitted in 1915, “the tramway was delivering 100 tons of ore per day to Keeler at a savings of $2.50 per ton over earlier transportation” (Trennert 2001; 82). With the construction of the six-mile gravity powered tramway, Cerro Gordo entered a new phase of its life that included zinc and lead mining. While the tramway increased the mine’s economy, its usage was short lived. The mine shut down in 1933, and in 1959 the tram terminus near Keeler California was dismantled and moved to Canderleria, Nevada (Trennert 2001; Mitchell 2003). Portions of the tramway are still visible; visitors can view ore buckets hanging on sections of wire between towers on their way up to Cerro Gordo.

What separates Cerro Gordo from its neighbors is its land status. Cerro Gordo, including the townsite, mines, and tramway are located mostly on private land. This differs from the other tramways nearby, which are being preserved by land managing agencies like the BLM or NPS.

Until the summer of 2018, the 300-acre townsite was owned by Jody Stewart Patterson and her family (Los Angeles Times, 17 July 2018; Cerro Gordo Historical Foundation 2017). However, after her death the site was sold to “an investment group led by hospitality entrepreneur Brent

Underwood and PR [Personal Relations] firm founder Jon Bier” for $1.4 million (LAT, 7 July

2018). The sale has been surrounded in speculation from the public due to the unique historical value of the site and the immense preservation efforts of the previous owners.

The unspoken fear surrounding the sale stems from seeing the next phase of ownership of

Cerro Gordo as a means of profit and not historical accuracy. The townsite of Cerro Gordo sits at the end of an 8-mile off-road trail at an elevation of 8500 feet in what has been described as a 13

“slumber” (Mitchell 2003). The previous owners, along with the Cerro Gordo Historical Society and a year-round onsite caretaker, have spent countless hours preserving the site to keep the feeling that the miners have just left. This feeling is due to the restoration efforts to many of the buildings while also having an open discussion on the importance of keeping artifacts on site.

While previous owners have intermixed artifacts from outside the region with ones onsite, this was done to better interpret the historical narrative the owners wanted to portray. The Cerro

Gordo Historical Society makes it clear on its webpage and during the tours that preserving the historical value of Cerro Gordo is only possible if the artifacts are left on site at the museum to keep the history alive for visitors to enjoy (Cerro Gordo Historical Society 2017). The onsite structural preservation and the owner’s conscious choice to educate the public about the destructive nature of artifact hunting is an important coupling to highlight, because it not only preserves Cerro Gordo but encourages visitors to treat similar sites in the same manner. 14

Figure 1: Topographical location map of the SVST. Image used with permission from ASCE.

Saline Valley Salt Tram

Nestled between Beveridge Mining District to the north and Cerro Gordo to the south is the SVST. Figure 2.1 provides a locational map with Cerro Gordo and its tramway indicated in the bottom center, the entirety of the SVST to the north of Cerro Gordo denoted with a bold black line, and Beveridge Mining District is marked “B.M.” just above the SVST by the “O” in

“Inyo Mountains”. This aerial tramway was built with the intention of transporting unusually pure salt from Saline Valley over the Inyo Mountains and into Owens Valley where it was loaded onto railcars to be brought down to Los Angeles (Mitchell 1971; Inyo Register [IR] 1912;

Locket 2015; Trennert 2001; National Register of Historic Places [NRHP]1974; Carstarphen

1917; Berg and Crowley 1979; Bureau of Land Management [BLM] 1979). Construction started in 1910 and was completed in 1913 (Lockett 2015; Trennert 2001). This 13.5-mile tramway was once touted at the steepest tram in the United States; Lockett explains the trams elevation changes as “rising from 1100 feet in the Saline Valley floor to 8500 feet at the crest of the Inyo

Mountains, then dropping to 3600 feet at Swansea in Owens Valley” (Lockett 2015:2). This unique tramway is an engineering marvel that traverses incredibly harsh terrain for the sake of salt.

Salt, especially salt that contains less than one percent of impurities, is a highly valuable commodity (IR 1912). To harvest the salt, the Saline Valley Salt Company would pump fresh water from nearby springs to loosen the salt crust. They would then allow the fresh water to evaporate leaving the “salt crystals that remained to be raked into piles” (Lockett 2015: 1).

Workers then shoveled the piles into bags to be driven out of Saline Valley. This methodology of pumping fresh water into the salt pan and scraping the salt crystals into piles remained the 16 preferred means to collect salt until the tramway ceased operations. However, the removal of salt via trucks and wagons was short lived.

In 1903 the Saline Valley Salt Company started to extract salt via long distance wagon routes (NRHP 1974). Due to the remoteness of Saline Valley, the transportation of the salt from the lake bed to market posed a problem: “Of all the basic necessities of life, salt is unique in that it is confined to certain limited locations… This fact, from the very beginning of civilization, has operated to make [salts] transport one of the cardinal necessities of civilized life” (Block 1963;

92). The technique of removing the harvested salt proved to be extremely problematic due to the minimal amount of salt each wagon and truck held and the length of time it took for the salt to be transported. In 1911, after contemplating constructing multiple transportation methods including a railway and a pipeline, the Saline Valley Salt Company settled on an aerial tramway (IR 1912;

NRHP 1974; Trennert 2001; Carstarphen 1917).

Construction of the SVST

Building an aerial tramway is no simple feat; construction is costly and takes years to complete. Saline Valley Salt Company broke ground on August 14th, 1911, after signing a contract with Trenton-Iron Company, a subsidiary of American Steel and Wire, to design and build the tram (Carstarphen 1917). As previously stated, the tramway was planned to climb over the Inyo mountain range acting as a 13.5-mile link between Saline Valley and Owens Valley.

Trennert explains that this tramway cost half-a-million dollars to build and “the lengthy system used five intermediate control stations, twenty-one rail stations, and twelve anchorage-tension structures… In all, this remarkable system required over a million board feet of timber and fifty- four miles of cable” (Trennert 2001; 80). The SVST was completed on July 2, 1913 and transported salt over the Inyos for several years (Lockett 2015). 17

The decision regarding the placement of the tramway necessitated immense effort by

Trenton Iron Works (IR 1912). Very early on designers chose to utilize the morphology of the

Inyo Range by placing the summit station at the lowest gap in the crest as it allowed for a near straight line from the salt fields in Saline to the railway in Keeler. “It was desirable to find the shortest route between the salt fields and the railroad…there is a saddle in the crest line with an elevation of 8500 ft, so that was desirable to have the tramway pass through that gap”

(Carstarphen 1917; 713). This placement in the saddle of the Inyo’s was only discovered by numerous topographical surveys conducted. Through utilizing the morphology of the landscape, the builders were able to aptly design the pathway of the SVST.

After deciding on the specific placement of the SVST within the Inyo Range, construction of the tramway commenced in 1911. In order to get materials to the site, workers relied on the existing roadways in Saline Valley along with establishing trails on the eastern and western slopes of the Inyo Range; mule trains and horse drawn wagons were used to transport the building material on the trails (Carstarphen 1917; Virtual Transportation Museum 2011).

Workers, both during the construction and operational years, “lived in tents and worked in temperatures of over a hundred degrees” as there were not permanent bunkhouses besides the summit cabin built to house employees (Trennert 2001; 80). The salt tram took almost two years to build and once it was completed it was regarded as the largest and most elaborate of its time

(Virtual Transportation Museum 2011). The SVST does not hold either of those titles anymore, but the SVST was the first tramway to cross an entire mountain range.

While traversing a mountain range is exceptional, the SVST is an aerial tramway, also known as wire rope tramway, which is uncommon. This type of construction consists of two large stationary wires on either side of the tower that act as a guide for the bucket carriers and a 18 smaller thinner cable that circulates between each station (IR 1912). The buckets would pass through each of the stations and transfer to the next sections circulating wire through a crossover system (Lockett 2015). This intricately engineered bucket transfer allowed for easy repairs because each section of the tram was linked via the large cable, but the smaller wires only linked adjoining stations. “Buckets are attached to this moving cable by means of a small clamping device, which is automatically released when the bucket and load reach the end of the special section over which they have traveled” (IR 1912; 28). The cables and wires were powered by electricity provided by the Edison Power Plant in Cottonwood Canyon in the Sierra Nevada’s across the Owens Valley (Lockett 2015). The engineering that Trenton-Iron Works underwent to build the SVST was immense and intricate.

However, the engineering didn’t end at the tram structures themselves. The buckets that carried the salt are specific to the SVST and were built to carry unusually large loads. Instead of the classic rectangular open-top bucket, the SVST chose to have cylindrical buckets with lids that hung horizontally to keep the salt dry as it crossed the Inyo range. The buckets, which weighed approximately 800 lbs each, were able to transport 700 lbs of salt; in total the salt tram averaged about 20 tons of salt transported per hour (IR 1912; Trennert 2001; Lockett 2015).

Everything about the SVST’s design was to optimize the output of salt and in turn maximize profits.

Phases of Operation and Ownership of the SVST

There is no denying that the SVST is an engineering marvel for its time, but it came with early unforeseen pitfalls. Part of the contract Saline Valley Salt Company made with Trenton

Iron Works was to complete the tram by a specified date, while providing supervised operations of the tram by Trenton Iron Works for the first sixty days of operation (Carstarphen 1917). 19

Unfortunately, debates over the location of the terminus in Owens Valley compounded by early mechanical failures delayed the completion. This postponement required the Saline Valley Salt

Company to pay the dividends over the agreed contracted amount (Carstarphen 1917; Lockett

2015). Due to the unintended building expenses, when operations of the SVST started in July of

1913 the Saline Valley Salt Company was already working outside of their economical means.

The Saline Valley Salt Company ran the SVST from 1913 until 1915 when it leased the aerial tramway to Owens Valley Salt Company (Carstarphen 1917; Lockett 2015; NHRP 1974).

Owens Valley Salt Company employed roughly seventy men, forty on the salt fields of Saline during the summer harvest months and thirty more year-round at the mill, for basic tramway operations until they went bankrupt in 1918 (Berg and Crowley 1979). The lease was not enough to save the SVST, and Trenton Iron Works repossessed the tramway and sold it to the Taylor

Milling Company in 1920 (NHRP 1974; Trennert 2001). In 1926 the Sierra Salt Company gained control of the tramway and performed a much-needed renovation to the tramway, due to its sitting inactive for several years (NHRP 1974; Trennert 2001; Berg and Crowley 1979).

During the Sierra Salt Company’s ownership of the tramway, salt was carted from Saline

Valley via the tramway and then trucks, thanks to a new road on the north end of Saline Valley.

Sierra Salt Company was removing salt at a rate of 100 tons per day, yet even that frequency was not enough to make a profit (Trennert 2001). “The plant was last operated in 1930, and in 1935 the Sierra Salt Company went into receivership” (NHRP 1974; 8). From the beginning the SVST was in an uphill battle trying to offset the costs of construction and the amount it takes to operate a tramway of that size while turning a profit.

Even though the SVST had difficulty creating a profit throughout its operating years, it still represents a magnificent engineering feat for its time. “California possesses one of the most 20 novel aerial tramways ever constructed” (Carstarphen 1917; 1). The SVST is not the longest tramway ever built, but it was the first to transverse an entire mountain range. Most of the salt works in Saline Valley are gone, however structures within the Inyo range remain in good condition thanks to the arid environment (Berg and Crowley 1979). The following images go in sequential order starting in Saline Valley, up the eastern slope then down the western slope of the

Inyo range, and ending at the terminus in the Owens Valley. 21

Valley Salt Fields with a crop of salt ready for ‘harvest’. Image is from is ‘harvest’. Hill David the used with Collection a and for Salt ready salt Fields cropof Image Valley

“The Saline “The

: :

Figure 2 Figure ECM. the permission with from

Image shows landscape panorama of Saline Valley Terminus, pier, and salt field. Image from David Hill Collection and and Hill from Collection David field. salt Terminus, Image and pier, of panorama landscape shows Valley Saline Image

Figure permission with from used ECM. 23

Figure 5: Image shows man riding a bucket up the eastern slope of the tram. Image is from the David Hill Collection and used with permission from the ECM.

Figure 7: Image shows bucket coming down western slope of Inyos with American flag draped on the bucket. Image from the David Hill Collection and used with permission from the ECM. 27

Figure 8: Image shows bucket returning to the Owens Valley terminus with salt piled up for distribution. Image is from the David Hill collection and used with permission by the ECM.

Layers of Historic Use on the Landscape

The Inyo Mountains are a small but historically rich mountain range that house a network of mining districts. The western side of the Inyo Range has three distinct historic activities associated with the landscape: the SVST, a series of charcoal reduction sites, and the 4x4 trail.

Each of these uses highlights a different stage in the Inyo’s history. As previously stated, the

SVST operated for a series of years in the early 1900s. In the upper elevations of the Inyo

Mountains there are a series of charcoal stains created by Swiss-Italian charcoal burners that were brought in the late 1800s (Likes 2010). These stains date back to the late 1800s when the mining districts within the Inyo range were at their peak. This resource dependency led to a declined number of pinyon pines and junipers present in the upper elevations and left permanent stains that dot the landscape. 28

While the charcoal stains predate the SVST, the current use of the western ridge of the

Inyo range is deeply rooted in recreation. The 4x4 trail that interweaves itself with the SVST starts at the base of the Inyo Mountains, tracks up to the summit station, and follows the ridgeline south to the privately-owned ghost town of Cerro Gordo. This current interaction with the landscape is important to highlight due to the large number of off-road enthusiasts it draws, particularly because of its remoteness and the skill level required to maneuver it. This trail is unmaintained, but well-worn. The Bishop Field Office section of the Inyo Mountains provides a prime setting to test whether landscape level management is feasible because of these three distinct levels of historic use.

Charcoal Burners

Before the SVST dominated part of the historical story of the Inyo Mountains, another group inhabited that area. Charcoal burners utilized upper elevations of the Inyo range to cultivate the densely populated juniper and pinyon trees. While their presence left a visible mark on the landscape, little is known about their presence in the Inyos. “Charcoal producers, or

‘carbonari,’ are a little-known historic group associated with mineral smelt activities in the latter half of the 19th century” (IR 1990;1). While the impact the carbonari had within the state of

California has yet to be studied in depth, their existence in the neighboring state of Nevada is highly documented.

Throughout the state of Nevada, the charcoal burners’ work has been closely linked to silver mining. Silver requires a high heat point to be smelted due to its complexity as a metal; processing silver is more complex than processing gold because of this (Zeier 1987). Silver mining hinges on the need to procure fuels that burn at a high heat point and for long periods of time. However, most fuel loads that achieve those goals are heavy and difficult to transport, 29 which is a problem for mines in remote places. “Charcoal burns twice as hot as wood and, because it is lighter than wood, was much more economical to transport to the smelters. Nevada's mining economy succeeded in part due to this inexpensive source of fuel” (T. Straka and T. J.

Straka 2006; 345). Partnering with groups like the carbonari to cultivate charcoal through extractive forestry techniques allowed for onsite smelting of silver at a minimal cost.

There are two forms of charcoal reduction and each has its specific uses. The first and more readily known method of creating charcoal is through constructing a kiln. Kilns are built

“beehive” shaped structures that allow for year-round burning, yield high quantities of clean charcoal, and require minimal attention (Starka and Wynn 2010a; Starka 2014). However, kilns require time to construct, and become permanent, non-mobile structures, meaning the fuel must be brought to the kiln to be processed. This procedure of obtaining charcoal is ideal for long term and high production needs.

This differs from the second method of charcoal harvesting, called pit charring, which involves onsite cultivation and smaller yields. “A charcoal pit involves creating a large pile of seasoned wood and sealing it with earth, and then reducing the charcoal via burning just like the kiln” (Starka and Wynn 2010b; 12). Pit charring allows for the charcoal to be produced close to the fuel supply and does not require intensive and costly construction of a structure in which to burn. However, because the structures are not permanent, they are highly susceptible to weather, meaning pit charring is utilized during the drier seasons (Straka 2014). Due to the proximity of the earth and soil to the burning process, the charcoal produced using this method is often intermixed with soils and the yields are sustainably smaller than those from kilns (Zeier 1987;

Straka 2014). Pit charring was the preferred technique if transportation was problematic and smaller less uniform charcoal was acceptable. 30

To produce charcoal, ample fuel sources are needed. Throughout the Great Basin pinyon pine and juniper are plentiful, which made them the favored choice to fuel charcoal burning

(Zeier 1987). Proximity to these trees, which grow in higher elevations, was vital to silver mines in isolated areas. Burning pinyon pine or juniper long enough to create charcoal took a high skill level, due to the aridity of the climate they grow in; the degree of finesse achieved by the carbonari was honed over years of cultural practice and skill (T. Straka and T. J. Straka 2006). In the Inyo Range both pinyon pine and juniper flourish at the upper elevations and provided fuel for the charcoal burners that fed Cerro Gordo.

As previously stated, Cerro Gordo became an established mining district when silver smelters were built in the 1870s. However, to operate the smelters, charcoal and charcoal burners were needed. Carbonari camps were established by Cerro Gordo, Darwin, Panamint, and

Lookout by 1870 and acted as a direct fuel source for smelters at each site (Chapman 2000).

While the founding date of these camps is similar, each chose a different method of charcoal reduction based on the mines size and needs. Cerro Gordo began with pit charring and later moved to kilns after exhausting resources within the Inyo Range.

Cerro Gordo utilized the extensive forest of mixed pinyon pine and juniper just north of the townsite for charcoal production. “Along the backbone of the Inyo’s the black pits of the charcoal burners scarred the landscape as stands of juniper and pinyon pine were consumed”

(Likes 2010; 19). Not only does charcoal reduction eliminate entire stands of trees, but the technique of pit burning leaves a visible stain on the surrounding soil, denoting the location of the pit. Most of the upper elevations of the Inyo range saw a huge decrease in pinyon and juniper stands by 1872 (Straka and Wynn 2010a). The consumption of pinyon and juniper for charcoal is 31 still evident in the Inyos through soil staining and the nearby clusters of tree stumps cut with historic saws.

While soil staining and historic stumps indicate the location of the pit charring, there is also a system of trails utilized by the carbonari that traverse the landscape. The carbonari created a network of well-worn access trails between the dense forest and the location of their pits

(Chapman 2000). To transport charcoal from the reduction pits to the smelting furnaces at Cerro

Gordo, the carbonari established a road between the pit locations and the town. This road was known during the surveying and construction of the SVST and utilized once more: “…an old charcoal road traverses the west slope of the Inyo Mountains to within a mile of the summit crossing. The summit was connected to the old road by a new construction, and the old road was repaired and made serviceable” (Carstarphen 1917; 716). The new construction that Carstarphen mentions is the trail now known as the Swansea Grade which was built during the creation of the

SVST. After exhausting resources in the Inyos, adobe kilns were constructed at the base of

Cottonwood Canyon in the Sierra Nevada range across the Owens Valley from Cerro Gordo in

1876 (Likes 2010). The Cottonwood Kilns went on to support Cerro Gordo with higher grade charcoal and marked the end of the pit charring techniques in the Southern Inyo Range.

The Swansea Grade

The trailhead for the Swansea Grade is located of California State Route 136 approximately 10 miles from the Highway 395 junction with Route 136 heading southwest towards DVNP. The trailhead is denoted by a large pullout adjacent to the ruins of a stone building; the stone building is what all that remains of a stagecoach stop (Massey and Wilson

2002). A single lane trail passes a BLM interpretive sign that suggests only vehicles with four- 32 wheel drive proceed due to dangerous grades. From there the trail climbs up an alluvial fan and into the Inyo Mountain Wilderness.

The Swansea Grade is a very scenic road that requires a certain skill- level to drive: “The trail undulates steeply as it enters the range, at times with grades up to 25 degrees. At some spots, it is difficult to get traction on the shale surface” (Massey and Wilson 2002; 615). Because of this, long wheelbase or extremely wide vehicles are not suggested for this route (Massey and

Wilson 2002; Mitchell 2003). Once in the Inyo Range, the trail crosses a wash created by flash floods that frequent this region during the spring and summer months. From there the trail steadily climbs until it intersects beneath what would have been the tramline of the SVST approximately two miles in. Transfer stations and towers of the SVST can be viewed on each adjacent hillside from the road, but the connecting cables are no longer present. A short drive up the grade, the first major obstacle presents itself.

About a half a mile past the first intersection of the SVST, the roadway enters a narrow canyon and the trail maneuvers over a cascade of bedrock boulders. This is the first of two sections that requires technical driving: “This is not an outing for the casual or inexperienced off- road driver” (Mitchell 2003 ;229). This section is about a quarter of a mile long and leads the driver into a saddle of the Inyos, once again crossing between remains of the SVST. This intersection gives the visitor their first glimpse of the steep terrain that the SVST navigated across with towers and a transfer station on the crest of the hillside on the left. The trail continues onto its second difficult section which consists of another large section of exposed bedrock on a narrow shelf road.

The second bedrock segment overlooks the upper section of the wash that was created by a flash flood from the first portion of the trail. Like the first bedrock section, this technical 33 section is approximately a quarter of a mile as well. After passing through this technical section, the trail levels out into a plateau and is substantially easier. This plateau marks the transitional zone between the desert-scrub environment on the lower elevations and the start of the pinyon- juniper forest belt of the upper (Mitchell 2003; Gear Grinders 4-Wheel Drive Club 2017). At this point, just roughly seven miles from the trailhead, the visitor has climbed almost 3,000 feet of elevation (Mitchell 2003). This is the last time the trail weaves beneath the ruins of the tramline, with visible structures on both sides of the trail.

After leaving the tramway, the trail continues for approximately four miles through the pinyon-juniper forest belt up to the crestline of the Inyos. At the top the trail encounters a t- shaped intersection with the northern road leading to Burgess Mine and Beveridge and the southern route following the crest of the Inyos to the summit station of the SVST. The crest of the Inyos is very picturesque and provides the visitor with sweeping views of the Sierra Nevada and Mount Whitney to the west and sheer canyons leading to the salt pans of Saline Valley to the east (Massey and Wilson 2002; Mitchell 2003). Continuing down the southern route, the trail kisses the crestline until it reaches the summit station and the caretaker’s cabin of the SVST at an elevation 8,720 feet. From the summit station the visitor can choose to take the Swansea grade back to state route 136 or continue following the trail south along the crest of the Inyos to Cerro

Gordo where they can take the county-maintained road back to state route 136 at Keeler

California.

California Desert Protection Act of 1994

In Fall of 1994, President Bill Clinton signed an act that was drafted to protect three main sections of California’s diverse desert ecosystems. This Congressional act selected 4.4 million acres to be preserved as wilderness areas and upgraded three national monuments to national 34 parks (Feldman 1992). The three newly anointed parks were DVNP, Joshua Tree National Park, and Mojave National Preserve. The act also set aside wilderness areas to be protected by both the

BLM and the U.S. Fish and Wildlife and provided these agencies with specific management instructions for the new wilderness areas (U.S. Congress, Senate 1994). The CDPA was enacted under the guise of preservation, but it forced a hasty shuffle of federal land management boundaries that can still be felt today.

In the case of DVNP, the expansion of its borders that came with the park designation meant an absorption of Saline Valley. Saline Valley was an area that was previously managed by the BLM, but “Under the provisions of Title III of the California Desert Protection Act of

October 31, 1994, Death Valley was designated a national park and acquired jurisdiction over more than 1,200,000 acres of additional lands formerly administered by the Bureau of Land

Management” (Unrau 1997; ix)—including Saline Valley. This incorporation of Saline Valley into DVNP required the BLM to reorganize their borders to be in compliance with the CDPA.

Previously, the Saline Valley region was a borderland between the BLM’s Bishop Field Office and Ridgecrest Field Office, each managing their portions respectively. The expansion of the

DVNP under the CDPA created a difficult management problem for resources that previously were under one agency’s jurisdiction, but now spanned two separate agencies’ borders.

The CDPA not only transferred Saline Valley to the NPS, but it also designated wilderness areas throughout the desert region. These wilderness designations were established to preserve both the natural and cultural significance of the California desert. The CDPA of 1994 states that the wilderness areas shall “protect and preserve historical cultural values…. associated with ancient Indian cultures, patterns of western exploration and settlement, and sites exemplifying the mining, ranching and railroading history of the Old West” alongside preserving 35 the scenic natural landscapes (U.S. Congress, Senate 1994;2). By choosing to preserve both natural and cultural features within a wilderness designation, a dichotomy is created, as wilderness is often defined as land that is “essentially unaltered by man’s activities” (U.S.

Congress, Senate 1994; 3). Due to this, the natural values of the designated wilderness often are given a higher importance than the cultural ones.

One of the regions specified as a wilderness area was the Inyo Mountains, which are the western neighbor of Saline Valley. Their designation in the CDPA is as follows in Title I, Statue

102, Part 28:

“(28) Certain lands in the California Desert Conservation Area and the Bakersfield

District, of the Bureau of Land Management, and within the Inyo National Forest, which

comprise approximately two hundred and five thousand and twenty, as generally depicted

on three maps entitled ‘‘Inyo Mountains Wilderness—Proposed 1’’, ‘‘Inyo Mountains

Wilderness—Proposed 2’’, ‘‘Inyo Mountains Wilderness—Proposed 3’’, dated May

1991, and which shall be known as the Inyo Mountains Wilderness” (United States

Congress Public Law No. 103-433; 6).

The southern Inyo Mountain Wilderness is managed by both the BLM Bishop Field Office and the BLM Ridgecrest Field Office respectively, with either the crest of the Inyos or the Swansea

Grade being the border. The eastern slope is managed by Ridgecrest Field Office and their jurisdiction ends at the base of the Inyos within Saline Valley. The western slope of the Inyo

Mountains to the base of the Owens Valley is curated by the Bishop Field Office. The ridgeline of the Inyos became the boundary after the CDPA was passed in 1994, during the rearranging of jurisdictions. 36

The CDPA’s goal was to preserve exceptional allotments of California’s desert. The

Mojave landscape supports fragile ecosystems that produced unique flora and fauna specifically adapted to the region’s harsh environment (Feldman 1992). To preserve these ecosystems,

Congress chose to dramatically change federal boundaries across the desert with little regard to how the new borders would affect future management. These new boundaries create difficult management scenarios when resources that previously were within one management area now span multiple ranges, as different pieces may be subjected to separate disconnected preservation plans. This is evident when examining the SVST, while previously it was solely managed by the

BLM, after the CDPA this resource is now subjected to three separate managing parties. DVNP,

Ridgecrest Field Office, and the Bishop Field Office are all curators of sections of the tram and each has their own approaches to managing this resource. 37

. .

Image used with permission with used ASCE the from Image

: Profile of the Saline Valley Salt Tram. the of Valley Profile : Saline Figure 9 Figure

Death Valley National Park

With the passing of the CDPA, Death Valley gained Saline Valley as additional park land. This change in federal boundaries included the flat stretch of the tramway from the salt fields to the base of the Inyos as part of DVNP indicated in the area within section 1 and roughly stretching from letters A to C in Figure 2.9. While this portion of the SVST has seen the most destruction, both before and after the lands were transferred to DVNP, there are still a few towers that remain alongside the ruins of the Saline Valley terminus of the tramway. It is unknown if there are any camp residues left in Saline Valley from housing the employees during the construction and operations of the SVST. Approximately twenty towers linked the salt field terminus to the Inyo Range and were some of the first structures to be erected during the tramway’s construction in 1910 (Carstarphen 1917).

All that remains for the SVST on the Saline Valley floor are three smaller towers, located outside of a wilderness area and visible from Saline Valley Road, one of the main roads in the valley that leads to the popular Saline Valley Warm Springs. During high-traffic seasons, park visitors will often stop their vehicles and walk out to the towers; because of this, DVNP acknowledges the towers as having a high interpretive value (Jane Lakeman, personal communications, 2018). DVNP is currently developing a large management plan for the Saline

Valley Warm Springs, located on the northwestern end of Saline Valley (NPS 2018a).

Nevertheless, DVNP is working on a tower stabilization project that will replace wooden beams that have been removed and restrict further sinking of the towers into the alkali soil of the salt fields (Jane Lakeman, personal communications, 2018). DVNP is the largest park in the contiguous United States, and because of this they have a large project queue; no formal project for the tower stabilization has been presented to the public for comment. 39

The stabilization project is important to highlight because it lies outside of designated wilderness, which is a stark contrast to most of DVNP. Part of the attraction for tourists who visit

DVNP is the incredibly harsh desert climate, coupled with the lack of access almost anywhere within the park. Roughly 91% of DVNP’s land is designated wilderness (NPS 2018b). While there are road systems in place linking different regions of the park, visiting the wilderness areas is not simple. Large areas of the park, especially those on the northern end like Saline Valley or the Eureka Dunes, that are designated as wilderness are difficult to access without proper planning and vehicle maintenance (NPS 2018a). By establishing a substantial acreage of DVNP as designated wilderness, the NPS has been able to preserve unique characteristics of the Mojave

Desert while restricting visitor access via foot, horseback, or registered vehicles; in the process, wilderness designation also prohibited the OHV usage that was previously allowed during BLM management.

The Wilderness Act of 1964

When the CDPA passed in 1994, the Inyo Mountains was designated as a wilderness area and therefore was placed under the management confines of the Wilderness Act of 1964. As previously stated, the goal of the designation was to preserve unique areas of the Mojave Desert.

However, creating wilderness land parcels that have a visible history of manipulation by humans places the land managers in a difficult position when it comes to regulatory compliance. The

Wilderness Act of 1964 defines wilderness as:

“A wilderness, in contrast with those areas where man and his own works dominate the

landscape, is hereby recognized as an area where the earth and its community of life are

untrammeled by man, where man himself is a visitor who does not remain. An area of

wilderness is further defined to mean in this Act as an area of undeveloped Federal land 40

retaining its primeval character and influence, without permanent improvements or

human habitation, which is protected and managed so as to preserve its natural

conditions” (United States Congress Public Law No. 88-577, section C).

This definition of wilderness is important when examining cultural resources within wilderness areas. Part of the CDPA’s subsequent goals was to preserve cultural resources throughout the

Mojave. Placing wilderness designations on cultural resources creates a grey area for interpreting the guidelines of preservation management.

This grey area is evident when examining cultural resources like the SVST. The SVST was placed on the NRHP in 1974, which requires the tram’s caretakers to preserve its historic value (NRHP 1974; U.S. Congress, Senate 1966). This coupled with the CDPA’s goals of protecting cultural resources and environments within the Mojave mandates that federal land managers take cultural resources like the SVST into consideration when developing management plans. However, the CDPA designated the two BLM portions to be within a wilderness area as defined by the Wilderness Act of 1964. This means managers must preserve the surrounding natural setting of the Inyos alongside cultural resources. The dichotomy of legislation mandating the preservation of significant cultural resources while protecting the wilderness aspect gives the

BLM minimal leeway for management plans. This is to not say they cannot manage wilderness areas; the BLM however must follow a formal, and lengthy, process to justify their determinations. This contrast is evident when examining the proposed fuels projects from each

BLM Field Office.

Bureau of Land Management Ridgecrest Field Office

The BLM Ridgecrest Field Office manages the eastern slope of the Inyo Mountains.

The area lies within the Inyo Mountain Wilderness and begins from the mountain base in Saline 41

Valley past the summit station to the Swansea Grade, representing the steepest portion of the

SVST, and is indicated on Figure 2.9 as the space between letters C and E. This incredibly precipitous terrain is difficult to access by any means other than by foot. Due to this, this section of the SVST is not frequently visited and portions of it remain virtually untouched. The sheer topography allows for relatively hands-off management of the SVST while working within the confines of the Wilderness Act of 1964.

Due to the near inaccessibility of the eastern slope of the SVST, protecting the towers against a wildfire is a valid concern. Wooden structures, especially those that reside in arid environments, are highly susceptible to wildfire destruction (Flanigan, Thompson, and Reed

2018). The upper elevations of the Inyo Mountains are richly populated with dense stands of pinyon pine (Pinus monophylla) and mountain mahogany (Cercocarpus betuloides). Many of these trees grow underneath or near SVST towers. If a wildfire was to ignite within the upper elevations, it would rapidly spread and decimate any towers or SVST structures in its path before fire crews would be able to be on scene.

The encroaching fuel load poses a risk to the SVST, yet the Wilderness Act dictates that the Inyo Mountain Wilderness must be preserved in a manner that void of human presence

(U.S. Congress, Senate 1964). However, when the SVST was placed on the NRHP large stands of the forest belt were extracted for charcoal reduction. The site would therefore be considered spoiled by interactions with humans when it became a designated wilderness. The current management problem stems from the Wilderness Act stating the regrowth of the forest belt as a beneficial impact when it is in fact placing a designated NRHP site in danger of ignition.

To address this concern, the Ridgecrest Field Office composed and released a Notice of

Proposed Action regarding the SVST towers in their management area. They plan to mitigate 42 wildfire damage by removing “Christmas-tree sized” trees and saplings growing within the 100- foot radius of each structure while leaving large trees and sensitive vegetation remaining (Bureau of Land Management, Salt Tram NOPA 2018). This project is targeting the eleven tram towers on the eastern slope that reside within the forest belt. Hand tools, such as hand saws and loppers, will be utilized for tree removal by volunteer crews, which complies with the Wilderness Act of

1964: "This project aims to strike the right balance between preserving wilderness and protecting culturally significant properties" (Bureau of Land Management, Salt Tram NOPA 2018; 2). By using hand tools to remove smaller trees and non-sensitive flora, the Ridgecrest Field Office is successfully walking the fine line between preserving the tram structures and the natural setting of the Inyos, thus complying with the NRHP and the Wilderness Act simultaneously.

Bureau of Land Management Bishop Field Office

The BLM Bishop Field Office manages the western slope of the Inyo Mountain

Wilderness Area that encompasses the largest section of the SVST. The slope is visible in the profile of the Inyos from Figure 2.9 from the summit flag and downslope to the right between letters E and J. This portion stretches from just below the crest of the Inyo Mountains and the boundary between the BLM Ridgecrest Field Office and BLM Bishop Field Office is delineated by the Swansea Grade when it passes between the largest transfer station and the caretaker’s cabin at the summit. The BLM Bishop Field Office’s segment incorporates structures spanning from the caretaker’s cabin to the terminus near Swansea California on the shores of Owens Dry

Lake. This portion of the tramway is the most accessible, due to the 4x4 route that interweaves the SVST towers on its way to the summit. As a result, this portion has seen lots of desecration by wood scavengers and elemental degradation; the Inyo range is particularly prone to flash floods, high winds, and extreme temperatures. The Bishop Field Office has organized many 43 volunteer projects involving the SVST, however the two largest ventures are the summit cabin stabilization project that took place in the late 1990s and the current fuels mitigation project.

In 1999 the Bishop Field Office conducted a conservation project to combat damage on the caretaker’s cabin at the summit of the Inyos. Before the stabilization project was underway, a group of volunteers from San Clemente High School’s photography course documented sections of the tramway in May of 1999 (Halford notes 1999-2000). This photo documentation acted as a preliminary step in recording the status of the tramway before the major stabilization project took place. This unique volunteer project came shortly after the major recordation of the summit station by architect Brian Webb and Tom Budlong in August of 1998. During Webb and

Budlong’s trip, architectural drawings of the caretaker’s cabin were drawn up on site, along with photo documentation of the cabin, and condition reports of each portion of the cabin (Halford notes 1999-2000; Webb and Budlong 1999). Both projects were important preliminary steps for the major stabilization project of 1999 because they both chronicled the state of deterioration the tram was in before stabilization took place.

The stabilization of the caretaker’s cabin, also referred to as the summit cabin, was a major undertaking from 1999-2001. Roughly $250,000 dollars was spent by the Bishop Field

Office on the stabilization of the caretaker’s cabin and repairs to the transfer station (Halford notes 1999-2000; Greg Haverstock, personal communication, 2019). The addition of repairs to the transfer station to the Bishop Field Office’s undertaking is important to highlight because the transfer station resides on the BLM Ridgecrest’s jurisdiction. After Webb and Budlong recorded its damaged state and provided the Bishop Field Office with architectural schematics of the cabin the project moved forward substantially. Work crews consisted of BLM employees and volunteers from the local area. The crews cleaned up the remains of the summit cabin by sorting 44 through the original wooden boards and determining if they were reusable or not (Halford notes

1999-2000). Wood that needed to be replaced was purchased from Copeland Lumber and transported to the summit cabin by volunteers from the Ridgecrest chapter of Gear Grinders, which is a subset of the larger California four-wheel drive club (Halford communications 2000).

This cooperation with the Ridgecrest chapter of Gear Grinders is important to highlight because the Bishop Field Office relied on an OHV group to bring supplies into the Inyo

Mountain Wilderness area. As previously stated, mechanized objects are outlawed by the

Wilderness Act of 1964. However, because the 4x4 road was in use before the wilderness designation via the CDPA in 1994, the road is considered a “cherry-stem” and essentially grandfathered into the law (United States Congress Public Law No. 103-433). This means that when the wilderness boundaries were drawn the road was purposefully left out of the wilderness area with the intent of using it as an access corridor. Rehabilitation and stabilization to the cabin was overseen by the Bishop Field Office’s archaeologist Kirk Halford and historian Don Becker, and was completed in 2000 (Halford notes 1999-2000). In his notes, Halford acknowledges the immense help from the many volunteers and regards the stabilization project as “a bright feather in the BLM’s cap” (Halford communications 2000).

Since the stabilization project, minimal preservation work has been done on the Bishop

Field Office’s section of the SVST. However, the Bishop Field Office is currently working on a fuels mitigation project similar to that of the Ridgecrest Field Office, which aims to protect the

SVST towers and structures that have dense vegetation growing underneath and near the historic structures. The largest difference between the two offices’ fuels mitigation projects are the tools they plan to use and the people that will be conducting the project. Where the Ridgecrest Field

Office chose to use hand tools and a volunteer crew, the Bishop Field Office has discussed 45 employing a hotshot crew to hike from the summit station down the tram line and remove vegetation. Discussions regarding the logistics are still in their infancy but will have to account for the remoteness of the area and the technical abilities required to transport a crew on the narrow route.

Why Landscape Preservation Could Be the Answer

As a result of the disjointed management approach inadvertently created by the 1994

CDPA, this project aims to examine the SVST for management at a landscape level; the structure should be protected as a whole and not separated by bureaucratic borders. During its years of operation, the tram was viewed as one structure that was built and utilized for economic gain.

The NRHP, early schematics of the tram, and a personal diary of a SVST worker all discuss the

SVST as one encompassing structure. This precedence of viewing the tram holistically is evident throughout historical documentation. Viewing the SVST as a landscape suggests the importance of developing a single consistent landscape level approach to management spanning the multiple jurisdictions it crosses, instead of the three different levels it is subjected to now.

A cultural landscape approach has been a suggested management tool by DVNP for nearby Saline Valley. Saline Valley is an isolated area that has been continuously manipulated by humans in a manner that has left visible markers on the landscape (NPS 2018a; Unrau 1997).

This management tool has only been suggested for the valley floor which is within DVNP’s boundaries. A landscape level management approach for the SVST would not only acknowledge the structure as one, instead of three separate parts, but also allow each managing party to develop one encompassing management plan together that preserves the structures entire story.

Aerial tramways like the SVST that represent a specific era in mining history deserve to be preserved and interpreted as one cohesive unit. 46

Chapter III: Management of Landscapes

This project will examine preservation at a landscape level for cultural resources that span multiple jurisdictions. To provide further understanding for why cultural resources that cross borders could benefit from landscape level preservation, one must look at the interdisciplinary researchers who are engaged in this topic. A discussion defining what a cultural landscape is and the roles both westward expansion and wilderness ideals play in shaping how cultural landscapes are viewed within the land management realm begins this chapter. When landscapes are confined within strict borders complications arise resulting in fragmentation and an explanation of how collaborative projects could be the solution follows. Next, the importance of viewing industrial archaeology sites and roadways as cultural landscapes is examined because this outlook can illuminate intricate networks linking sites. Through acknowledging the spatial distribution of sites, an inventory of the landscape can be conducted that can result in a map illustrating each layer of human interaction with the landscape. The chapter concludes with a conversation regarding the need to preserve each layer of the landscape, including modern interactions, instead of freezing the landscape in one period of its history.

What is a Cultural Landscape?

Landscape is a term that is difficult to succinctly define. In his 1925 article “The

Morphology of Landscape,” geographer Carl Sauer explained that landscapes consist of two ideas: one being the physical geographic markers of a site, and the other as the interactions between humans and the land which results in cultural indicators (Sauer 1925:303). On the ground, this implies that landscapes have geographic borders and either tangible or intangible cultural significance. When people envision the term ‘landscape’ they often conjure images of scenes void of humans (Lewis 1979). Yet, most landscapes that are thought to be natural are 47 often influenced or cultivated through exchanges with humans. Through further examinations of the connections between humankind and the land, the concept of cultural landscape has not only developed as a theoretical framework for study, but also an applied concept to guide land management.

The primary lens of cultural landscape studies is looking at the interactions of people and the land (Groth 1997). By focusing on this interface, interest in cultural landscapes expanded to the disciplines of anthropology and archaeology. These schools of thought have a shared awareness towards the humanistic ties to land that can lead to the manipulation of terrain: as

Sauer wrote, “Culture is the agent, the natural area is the medium, the cultural landscape is the result” (Sauer 1925:309). A cultural landscape can be subtle with only slight modifications to the land, or obvious with interconnected archaeological remains throughout a historic district.

Humans view the past through the physical remains and artifacts within the landscape that they believe have survived over time (Lowenthal 1979). Identifying cultural landscapes is easier when historic ruins inhabit the site. However, difficulty arises when sites fall victim to looting or have intangible significance to a group that can be invisible to others.

The struggle with landscapes does not end with attempting to create a simple definition.

Cultural landscapes are often subjected to the same criteria as architecture in terms of preservation (Alanen and Melnick 2000). Restricting landscape preservation to this criterion ignores the fluidity of landscapes. Landscapes provide a sense of “place” that is part of a dynamic relationship with the past and present contexts (Couch 2010). This sense of place constantly changes, and with that the boundaries of the cultural landscape evolve. However, the current legislation does not allow for cultural landscapes to be viewed as ever-changing and instead only recognizes those at are in a relatively static state. 48

Viewing landscapes as static creates problems for those tasked with managing them.

Landscapes are inherently dynamic, both ecologically and culturally, but managing parties have expressed concern for preserving them as such due to conflicting legislation. “Land managers and design professionals, through need, professional impulse, or coded expectations, have come to rely upon narrowly defined understandings of landscape values” (Melnick 2000; 42). Due to this, whomever is tasked with delineating and managing the landscape is allotted a certain level of ambiguity in determining what is included or excluded from the landscape. This problem is exemplified when examining the management approaches of cultural resources that cross boundary lines. Landscapes require fluidity which can be at odds with strict land designations that change the public perception of, and interactions with, a certain area.

Westward Expansion

In his 1893 thesis, Frederick Jackson Turner claimed that wilderness, and frontiers which he defined as the boundary between civilization and wilderness, are central to the American identity (Turner 1893). Yet, what Turner identified as wilderness throughout the American West was not truly wild land; to early settlers it was uncharted territories, but the land had a long history of manipulation and use by native peoples. Turner based his argument in the idea that conquest happened in a linear fashion advancing the boundary line of the frontier from the east coast of America out to the western seashore (Turner 1893). For many decades Turner’s frontier thesis was a pivotal work regarding the history of the American West, but it has been harshly criticized in recent years by many historians.

Contrary to what Turner proposed, westward expansion is not simply explained by a linear model. In their book Under an Open Sky: Rethinking America’s Western Past, William

Cronon, George Miles, and Jay Gitlin offer five criteria that they believe shaped America’s 49 westward expansion: species shifting, market making, land taking, boundary setting, and self- shaping (Cronon et al. 1992). After providing examples for each of these criteria to support their claims the authors circle back to boundary setting as the largest catalyst for conquest in America:

“Boundary setting is so inclusive a frontier and regional process that it encompasses all the others” (Cronon et al. 1992; 16). The article claims that the delineation of clear boundary lines solidified social and political separations of the frontier, and those same boundaries later gave way to the regions of the West. However, these regions encompass series of networks both at a microscale, neighbor to neighbor, and a macroscale, region to region or region to international ties, that cannot be constricted to arbitrary border demarcations.

Due to the West consisting as a series of regions that dependently interacted with each other, it is difficult to establish one overarching definition that encompasses every area’s history.

This forced geographers to dissect the West into regions in order to accurately illustrate the sections’ interdependency (Meinig 1972). Geographers argue that studying each region’s historical background and development provides better insight into how westward expansion shaped the West into what it is today. In application, this requires geographers to examine the regional landscape and the roles it played in that area’s development. As previously stated, a cultural landscape can be determined by human tangible or intangible interactions with the landscape. Therefore, by scrutinizing each region independently, researchers can view each cultural landscape’s tie to the “evolution of the know-how of local societies” (Berte et al. 2013;

252).

Localized studies of the West are vital to understanding how the West developed but difficulty arises when regions are demarcated. As Cronon, Miles, and Gitlin explained boundary setting played a pivotal role in shaping the West. However, it is difficult to determine where the 50 cultural border of each region truly lies because they are based on connotation. Regional monikers such as “The Midwest,” “The South,” “The North,” or “The East” are rooted in cultural association and therefore do not rely on clear encompassing borders (Limerick 1987). While each region has a collective regional history at its center, areas near the borders tend to have less association with a sole regional identity.

Because the regional ties are blurred for areas that reside on borders, understanding the morphology and history of the landscape is essential. One of the ways to accomplish this is to examine the cultural landscapes of that area. By reading the landscape, the cultural impacts that shaped the landscape can become evident (Melnick 1983; Lewis 1979). Reading a landscape requires grasping the morphology while being able to discern the cultural effects. For example, the cultural harvesting of a specific tree species within a forest leads to eradication of that species in that area. The removal is visible on the landscape through the number of stumps left behind for generations and the lack of these trees on the landscape in current context. “The form of the landscape- as a result of social practices- continues to shape and reshape those self-same social practices” (Mitchell 2002; 386). Cultural indicators on a landscape provide valuable insight into that area’s development and association.

The cultural and natural aspects of a landscape are both significant because they feed into each other. This understanding is often not addressed by managing parties because preservation can place cultural preservation in opposition with biological conservation. This is especially evident when examining what is perceived as wilderness. The goal of minimizing the size of the frontier boundary between civilization and into what was considered wild land was key to westward expansion. However, as previously stated, the land that Turner identified as wild was 51 highly manipulated by its native inhabitants. Due to this, the colloquial symbolism of the “wild west” is fraudulent.

Wilderness is not Truly Wild

Since the West has undergone generations of land management, it is misleading to label many specific areas as wild when they are anything but. “Therefore, we may ask, what of the identity and history of occupation of US national park areas by native Americans before being ousted and their cultural landscape turned into someone else’s ‘wilderness’? That page of history is fuzzy in the heroic wilderness narrative, being as opaque as it was in the environmental ethics debate on natural values during the 1970s and 1980s, in particular that of whether nature has instrumental value or intrinsic value” (Taylor and Lennon 2011; 546). Excluding the historical use and manipulation by native cultures in favor of preserving a false public perception of wilderness spurs the ethical question of whether agencies are placing ecological importance over cultural. Cultural landmarks can change how the public experiences a landscape because they can either encourage or discourage future interactions; this is important to acknowledge when examining places that are supposed to be wild and therefore void of human presence (Gobster et al. 2007).

While indicators of cultural interactions can modify how wilderness is viewed, that does not allow for their presence to be omitted from the landscape interpretation. The natural morphology of the landscape directly influences the cultural connotations and manipulations of those natural features. Similarly, the cultural interactions with the landscape can affect the natural landscape through actions like a diversion of a watershed or harvesting of timber resources. Both natural and cultural facets shape the cultural landscape and it is biased to favor one over the other when developing management plans. (Webb 1987). 52

This duplicity of wilderness areas is highlighted in what facets managing parties select to preserve. In their article “Wilderness and Cultural Landscapes: Shifting management emphases in the Tasmanian Wilderness World Heritage Area” Jim Russell and Mirjana Jambrecina use the

1992 management plan to emphasize the issues with the complete removal of roads, tracks, and huts from the Park and allowing other ruins to degrade away. Similarly, managers renamed morphological features with descriptive geographic names that previously had culturally significant labels from local communities all in favor of preserving the natural values of the newly designated wilderness area (Russell and Jambrecina 2002). Complete removal of cultural reminders within the landscape in order to preserve a false public perception of wilderness is severe but not uncommon.

Cultural landscapes require managing practices that acknowledge their dependency on their cultural and natural aspects. Difficulties arise when managers attempt to restrict cultural landscapes to the management practices of wilderness areas or natural landscapes (Webb 1987).

This common managing technique acknowledges the natural morphological features that created the landscape but neglects the cultural influence that also shaped the landscape. In his article

“Speaking in Tongues: The Multiple Voices of Fieldwork in Industrial Archaeology,” Donald

Hardesty explains the importance of documenting both natural and cultural influences because they play important roles in industrial sites archaeological record. “Documenting [natural and cultural] processes and the history of site formation is essential to understanding voices from the ground, which all too often speak in no more than a whisper” (Hardesty 2000; 43). By preserving cultural landscapes with the understanding that both their natural and cultural significance are equally important, managing parties can encapsulate the landscapes entire history.

Constriction of Landscapes via Borders

While preserving both the natural and cultural aspects of the landscape is important, it is not the only hurdle managers must negotiate. Borders and borderlands present complicated scenarios for managers for two main reasons: cultural landscapes are dynamic and therefore cannot be restricted by rigid borders, and boundary lines can be subject to change over time. At their simplest, borders are nothing more than arbitrary lines delineating areas of different ownership (Mening 1972; Melnick 1983). It is important to note these boundary lines can be geographic features on a map or part of the designed environment. “[Boundaries] may be either intentional (e.g. hedgerows) or unintentional (e.g. rivers)” (Melnick 1983; 90). Managing cultural landscapes in adherence to boundaries, however they appear within the landscape, is a disservice.

Complications arise when agencies attempt to protect cultural landscapes by placing them within strict borders. “When a subject is ruled, not by inquisitiveness, but by definitions of its boundaries, it is likely to face extinction” (Sauer 1941:3). While Sauer was referencing the need to make cultural landscape studies interdisciplinary, boundaries present management problems for cultural landscapes because of the mismatch between fixed property lines and the dynamic nature of landscapes. For land managing agencies, borders outline their legal jurisdictions and indicate areas they do and do not have management authority. Boundaries therefore become a tool that allows for manipulation in favor or against projects that span borders (Løvschal 2014).

In application, this means one agency has little control over or input into how another agency manages their land. This presents a problem when examining cultural resources that do not adhere to bureaucratic property lines. 54

Similarly, it can become difficult to manage a cultural resource that spans borders when boundary markers are variable. In his article “Cultural landscapes: the dialectical landscape- recent landscape research in human geography,” Don Mitchell argues that “Reconfigured and reinforced boundaries between states, boundaries designated to greatly slow, but not stop, the flow of people are part and parcel of the free and speeded up flow of goods and capital.”

(Mitchell 2002; 382). Regardless of strict governmental borders, the cultural landscape is still shaped by the people who reside and interact with that border. Throughout the article, Mitchell uses the state of California as an example to highlight the need to examine landscapes in relation to its surrounding regions and not as an isolated being; “San Diego and Tijuana are more integrated than they have ever been, even as the boundary between them is hardened” (Mitchell

2002; 383). By studying landscapes through their cultural interactions with adjacent environments, resolute boundary demarcations lose their significance.

What managers perceive as boundaries can play a huge role in how cultural resources and landscapes are preserved. As previously stated, boundaries can be natural formations or cultural lines of ownership. Don Hardesty provides the example of “cultural landforms created by mining activities” in his book, Mining Archaeology in the American West: A View from the Silver State.

Hardesty claims that cultural landforms like mine tailings, open pits, and mine waste-rock dumps all create “real” boundaries that mirror the locations of geologically significant mineral deposits

(Hardesty 2010; 9). While these boundaries may be helpful for on-site management of an industrial site, it does not address the working relationship that specific site had to its surrounding area.

While using the cultural landforms that were a direct result of the cultural interactions with the landscape to delineate site boarders is one solution, other methodologies regarding 55 boundaries are evolving as well. Jim Russell and Mirjana Jambrecina argue in favor of using cultural landscapes as a “buffer zone” between the “less modified natural systems and the highly modified landscapes outside park boundaries” (Russell and Jambrecina 2002; 131). This methodology was created in response to the Tasmanian Wilderness World Heritage Area exterminating cultural resources within the park boundaries in favor of cultivating and preserving a false wilderness. By choosing to preserve the park border as a cultural landscape, Russell and

Jambrecina are acknowledging that cultural landscapes can act as a link between nature and culture and are dynamic environments that can span political boundaries.

Borders can be examined beyond their current usage. The boundaries established in

Løvschal’s project by linear features created in the first millennium BC portray a vastly different landscape than the current boundary lines between regions. “These boundaries operated through division and separation; they halted movement and created zones of linear repetition that appeared distinctly different from the landscape that existed before” (Løvschal 2014:725). These boundaries were more than just the physical features visible on the landscape, they also affected people’s attitudes toward and influenced movement on the landscape. Boundaries can do more than perform as a partition between parties, but they can also aid in future fragmentation of landscapes.

Fragmentation

When projects are restricted to governmental boundaries, fragmentation is likely to occur.

Fragmentation’s roots originate in agricultural and bioscience studies but is becoming a valid critique in geography and cultural landscape studies (Taylor 2002). The concept of fragmentation addresses the evolution of human interaction and adaptation based on their environment. “One can conclude that modifying the environment is necessary for human continuance. 56

Fragmentation is one of those adaptive behaviors, apparently, and cultural landscape analysis is one of the techniques for chronicling these human included changes” (Taylor 2002; 98).

Studying the fragmentation of a landscape can illuminate the growth of the region based on the location humans chose to modify.

In a management sense, fragmentation occurs when a landscape, cultural resource, or ecosystem is managed by numerous parties whose main concern is their own managing portion and not the system as a whole. Taylor, among other scientists, proposes the use of cultural landscapes to address and mitigate the fragmentation of rural land that occurs in the American

West. Fragmentation occurs throughout North America and scientists need to address the ecological impacts it leaves on the landscape (Taylor 2002). By limiting fragmentation, the overall ecosystem of the region benefits. Similarly, cultural resources and cultural landscapes profit from being managed under one unified view instead of being divided up amongst managing parties. Taylor makes a clear argument that collaborative methodologies amongst scientists and land owners is vital to defragmenting the western landscape (Taylor 2002). Some of the features that can be the most susceptible to fragmentation are linear features.

Linear Features

Lines can be a boundary, an illustration of movement, and a limitation (McNair 2005).

Heritage tourism relies on linear landscapes because they highlight cultural aspects within societies (Van Der Zanden et al. 2013). These features can be small scale garden structures such as hedges or large-scale industrial artifacts like ditches or waterways. Linear features are often linked to transportation, communication, or commerce (Hardesty and Little 2009). Lines can be utilized for several reasons, but they commonly act as a link between communities or regions. 57

At their core, linear features provide connection or association between social groups or territories. “Linear infrastructures are the physical basis for material and immaterial links between societies. They structure local territories, but more often reflect upper-level rationalities- thus physically cross areas without providing a local service” (Berte et al. 2013; 248). Interstates, railway systems, and trails perform a specific role within cultural landscapes because they act as direct connections between different regions of the landscape. Similarly, they can also illustrate a historical evolutionary process of commerce within a community (Berte et al. 2013). While lines encompass a vast array of sites, the most common forms of linear features are trail systems.

Trails exemplify patterns of human movement across a landscape. Trail networks can consist of backcountry single track, wagon-rutted pathways, or roadways. For Abby McNair’s thesis on the Sidney-Black Hills Trail, she observed the layers of use, preservation, and interpretation of the trail’s landscape that stretches from Nebraska to South Dakota. Her examination of the trail emphasizes the evolution of the historic transportation methods and how each affected the trajectory of the trail (McNair 2009). By tracing each level of transportation from walking, to covered wagons, to early roads, and eventually to modern roadways with historical markers, McNair was able to link each section of the trail system at a landscape level.

Collaboration Based Landscape Projects

While McNair’s project is important to note because it stretches across multiple states, it is not unique. Another linear landscape that crosses a border is the Chilkoot Trail located in

British Columbia, Canada and Klondike Gold Rush National Historical Park in Alaska. This trail originated as a passage route for the local native groups of the area, then expanded during the

Klondike gold rush to include townsites along the route, and later extended again to include industrial features linking the towns to the waterways in Canada (Griffin and Gurcke 2011). Due 58 to its multiple layers of historical use along with transecting international borders, this trail has been preserved as a cultural landscape.

By both governments agreeing to treat the trail as a cultural landscape, Canada and the

United States, via the NPS, work together with the understanding that borders do not limit their work. “This [interdisciplinary] approach, along with the international collaboration, has been the great strength of the work. In other words, the slogan ‘No Boundary Line Here’ of the Arctic

Brotherhood, a stampeder fraternal organization founded in 1899, provides an apt motto for all those doing research on the Chilkoot” (Griffin and Gurcke 2011:161). Cultural landscapes inherently require multidisciplinary approaches that appreciate the dynamic methodologies of their preservation. Members of each group understood that they had to work together to preserve the whole story of the trail; if they performed this individually, the project would be fragmented and one-sided (Griffin and Gurcke 2011). The Chilkoot trail is a perfect example of a large-scale preservation project that brought together numerous groups with the goal of protecting a historic site across borders as a cultural landscape.

The Chilkoot trail cultural landscape project provides an exemplary example of two governments coming together to preserve the same resource regardless of international borders, but similar work needs to be done between land managing agencies in the United States. While federal agencies such as the BLM, USFS, and NPS acknowledge the need for collaborative projects, the extensive number of regulations and legislative guidelines placed upon agencies, the need to address multiple public viewpoints regarding projects, and governmental budget cuts create “a recipe for gridlock on public land” (White 2014; 92). Similarly, each agency has its own views on management. The NPS, who are figureheads in preserving cultural landscapes, manage their lands for constricted use; each park determines what forms of recreation are 59 acceptable in each area (Webb 1987). Conversely, the USFS and the BLM value recreation, wildlife management, and resource extraction under their multiple use management plans for their federal land (Sheridan and Sayre 2014). These conflicting viewpoints regarding land management create a dichotomy that is difficult to overcome in collaborative projects.

Contrasting land management ideologies are not the only hurdles blocking inter-agency collaboration. “Some leaders [of agencies and congressional leaders] viewed collaboration as a possible threat to their own decision-making authority [and some still hold this view], but other officials saw that collaboration offered agency personnel the best chance of meeting the public’s multiple demands on national forests” (Enzer and Goebel 2014; 102). Enzer and Goebel discuss the importance of place based collaborative projects because they offer a solution that can allow for all interest groups to benefit. Grassroots groups, tribal entities, state and local governments, federal agencies, and sometimes congressional members work together in a manner that values each other’s concerns and interests for the project; thus, providing a win-win situation.

Collaborative projects are important for federal land management agencies because they are tasked with managing large allotments of land for the public. Collaboration can happen at a large scale like inter-agency or inter-governmental or it can occur within the office amongst the sundry staff who each have a niche educational background (Skillen 2009). The interoffice diversity is directly correlated to the legislative responsibilities that each agency is tasked with adhering to. In theory every American citizen should be able to provide input on how federal lands are managed. However, the general public consists of a wide array of viewpoints spanning from nuanced environmentalists who use public lands for recreation to traditional users who value public land for extractive industries (Skillen 2009). This swath of public input demands 60 collaboration within agency offices and between agencies in order to properly address all sentiments regarding the project.

As previously stated, boundaries can incite problematic scenarios for collaborative public land managing agencies. Some managers view collaborative projects as a threat because it can limit their own decisions on the land within their jurisdiction (Enzer and Goebel 2014).

However, managing land with a fixation on singular allotments of land is not conducive for conserving an entire ecosystem. Federal land management agencies need to examine the whole ecosystem regardless of boundaries in order to properly conserve the entity, whether that be an endangered species or sensitive environment, in its entirety (Skillen 2009). “One great challenge in the twenty-first century, then, is to stitch the West back together again through the creation of enduring partnerships that crosscut these boundaries” (Sheridan and Sayre 2014; 9).

Collaborative projects that span jurisdictional borders and acknowledge the need to view things holistically are vital for comprehensive preservation.

One way that collaborative projects across bureaucratic boundaries can be preserved is through designating landscape level preservation. Landscapes do not adhere to borders and encompass multiple voices of a region. An example of this would be the National Fire Plan whose goal was to “manage wildfire across a working landscape made up of many different landowners and managers, in essence an all-lands approach” (Enzer and Geobel 2014; 109). This plan was an agreement amongst all land owners, private, state, and federal, to perform fuels reduction and ensure proper restoration of ecosystems. The National Fire Plan is an example of what can occur when successful collaboration works at a landscape level.

These large-scale preservation projects that view a region at a landscape level are comprehensive but require extensive timelines to accomplish. Most federal agencies are overrun 61 with compliance-based fieldwork that is directed at a single site location or linear strip of activity and therefore have little time to dedicate to landscape level regional projects (Hardesty 2000).

However, a backlog of compliance projects should not be used as a scapegoat for avoiding regional projects. Regional wide landscape level preservation projects are important because of the increased value placed on archival and cultural resource studies by both agencies and local interest groups (Howett 2000).

Industrial Archaeology

The field of industrial archaeology has seen success in both landscape preservation and collaboration. Industrial archaeology is rooted in the availability and extraction of natural resources. In order to examine a landscape’s industrial past, the industry must be systematically studied through the network of connections, both social and physical, with an understanding of site placement (Hardesty 2000). This requires managers to examine the industrial cultural landscape based on its communal networks and not on its jurisdiction. Similarly, “Negotiations and trade offs take place constantly within [land managing] offices among advocates for cultural resources, wildlife, minerals, recreation, and other managed resources. And outside pressures ranging from subtle lobbying to crude threats by industry or politicians or other special interest groups attempt to avoid, decrease, or increase the fieldwork that is done. The result is a completely serendipitous approach to the conduct of fieldwork in industrial archaeology”

(Hardesty 2000; 44). Industrial sites, both current and historical, provide excellent case studies for collaborative landscape level management.

Historical mines are individual sites that create a larger network of mining and consumerism when linked together. Mining is an industry that leaves an observable footprint on the landscape (Melnick 1987). This scar that is left on the landscape allows the collective 62 connections between the mines is easily traceable geographically. However, “’community’ should not be pinned to geography alone, as it is a frame of reference or orientation that coalesces around shared, common causes or collective experiences” (Waterton and Smith

2010:9). Waterton and Smith explain that while there is an important connection geographically, analogies can also be drawn between sites that illustrate a much larger system. In practice, when examining mining districts, the correlation between each individual mine operation is significant but should not overshadow the connections that can be drawn through consumerism to larger cities or other mines farther away.

Landscapes, like industrial sites, are inherently tied to numerous territories outside of their geographic location. “We should not think of individual landscapes as discrete pieces of territory because they are supported by, and help sustain, the interests of mere sections of any given society” (Mitchell 2002; 381). Mining sites relied on the migration of people from urban areas to the mine in order to operate which in turn strengthened the links between territories by increasing the commerce of trade goods. Designers of industrial sites work to simplify the connections between territories by exploiting the morphology of the territory in which the landscape is located; this can be through choosing the most direct path to place highway interstates or where to establish roads to minimize water crossings (Berte et al. 2013). Industrial landscapes originate around natural features but shine light into a cultural network of multi-scale interactions.

Roadways as a Cultural Landscape

When examining a cultural landscape, the physical network of roads and trails within the community cannot be ignored. During her work in Paradise Valley, Dr. Margaret Purser acknowledges the roads as an agent in connecting Paradise Valley to Winnemucca Nevada. The 63 patchwork of road ways illuminated the routes people took to navigate within the boundaries of the valley via homesteads and town sites. Dr. Purser noted that all the roads that crossed the valley borders eventually led to the town of Winnemucca, Nevada -thus, exposing a larger network than previously thought (Purser 1989). “They made and remade a community defined in part by how and why you got from place to place within its boundaries, and where you were going when you left” (Purser 1989:134). Trails and roads can be used as interpretive tools to understand and dissect a landscape.

Interpretive tools such as trails, roads, and mining sites are central to reading a landscape’s layers. However, it is important to note that each of these tools can have multiple deposits of its own. Trails and road systems are not static; they change to fit the transportation and commerce needs of their time (Church 2017; Purser 1989; Griffin and Gurcke 2011). The

Santa Fe Trail, which transects multiple state lines, was a high traffic trade route for goods between Plains and Pueblo peoples. This route created a symbiotic relationship between both groups because overhunting formed a lack of specific goods needed on each side (Church 2017).

Much like the Chilkoot Trail, the Santa Fe Trail later evolved to include trade between homesteads and townsites. Each of these levels of use are visible within the landscape and should be examined when using these trade and transportation networks as tools for interpretation.

Roadways can provide more than an evolutionary timeline of regional commerce. In their article, “Transportation Systems as Cultural Landscapes in National Parks: The Case of

Yosemite,” Youngs, White, and Wodrich argue that the designed layout of roadways within

National Parks are cultural landscapes. Visitors within Yosemite National Park do not view the numerous transportation systems as intrusive to their wilderness experience; instead they have embraced them as part of the overall landscape. The designed narrative of Yosemite exposes 64 itself as scenic natural settings from the visitor’s car window as they drive Yosemite Valley

(Youngs et al. 2008). The ideology that wilderness should be viewed and not experienced via tactile sensations is common throughout the NPS. This designed landscape approach to transportation systems demonstrates another network of interpretation; where Church’s project used roads to highlight the layers of historic transportation, the case study of Yosemite illustrates the network of roadways designed to showcase wilderness while limiting interactions.

Due to mining sites interconnections with roads and local communities, these sites should be studied as systems. Treatment of mining districts should be holistic in nature (Swope 1993).

Karen K. Swope repeatedly highlights the importance of understanding the relationship between each mining site within a district through comprehensive examinations. During her investigation of Beveridge Mining District, Swope considers the connections between each individual mine, home, and the outside world. This approach supports the notion that networks are integral for rural areas because they illustrate connections throughout the surrounding region (Melnick 1987;

Swope 1993; Fairclough 2008). By examining the sites as communities with bonds to both local and distant areas, spatial awareness between sites becomes increasingly apparent.

Spatial Awareness

Denoting, acknowledging, and interpreting the spatial placement of features within a site and its cultural connections to communities both near and far is vital. One of the more popular mechanisms for understanding spatial organizations within sites is compiling a map via

Geographic Information Systems (GIS). “The power to visualize the spatial component of archaeological data within the contrasting settings of national and local Cultural Resource

Management and at varying scales of analysis from the intra-site to the regional level, has contributed substantially to the current high level of awareness, if not actual usage, of GIS in 65 archaeological circles” (Lock and Harris 1997; 1). This methodology allows for in the field data collection via global positioning systems (GPS) devices which produces datasets that can be superimposed over topographical maps or model reconstruction; thus, producing a physical representation of a landscape (Lock and Harries 1997). GIS is a powerful tool for archaeologists who wish to capture landscapes through their spatial boundaries.

In landscape studies understanding the placement of features and the correlation of their placement to the morphology of the landscape. Morphology is discipline of deciphering the geographical layout of a landscape (Sauer 1925; Lilley 2000). Spatial placement of landmarks, buildings, and features within the site is highlighted when the study of morphology is utilized because connections and design elements of the landscape are illuminated. “Morphology thus provides a means of linking conceptions of space with concrete spatial forms” (Lilley 2000;

382). Conceptualizing the topography alongside the spatial distribution of artifacts and features is key to understanding the network of internal and external connections of a landscape.

Creating Maps as a Representation of a Landscape

Maps are a tangible representation of a landscape. Creating a map, whether that entails physically drawing it or digitally generating one with GIS, is a direct reflection of the connection between the represented terrain and the cartographer (Lilley 2000). Maps are illustrations of the cartographer’s interpretations of the landscape and directly mirror those renderings.

“Assessments of landscape reflect who does the assessing” (Jones and Daugstad 1997; 275). By translating the landscape into a material format, understanding the morphology of the landscape that is being depicted is essential; the mapmaker must view the landscape as a resource and an opus (Lilley 2000). Map making originated as a representation of personal experience but has since become a tool utilized for management. 66

The management of cultural resources greatly depends on the spatial context that maps provide. GIS has become a popular tool for land managing agencies because of its ability to produce high quality maps that consist of near exact spatial information of sites. Moylan, Brown and Kelly explain in their article. “Toward a Cultural Landscape Atlas: Representing all the

Landscape as Cultural,” that maps produced in the GIS format have almost become their own form of language within Australian National Parks (Moylan et al. 2009). In this manner, multiple people can add to the resource map and the map in turn becomes a dialogue. Moylan, Brown, and Kelly further argue in favor using GIS maps for cultural landscape management because they allow for spatial mapping of cultural resources throughout the park (Moylan et al. 2009).

Mapping resources for the purpose of managing a cultural landscape requires explicit documentation of spatial distribution of site features which can be conducted through a network of cooperation between managers.

Maps can act as a powerful management tool for cultural landscapes because they provide a snapshot of a specific time in history that can be added to with subsequent interactions with the landscape (Moylan et al. 2009). For example, mining claims throughout the Great Basin relied on the maps originally published in governmental reports created by military officials and land surveyors (Francaviglia 2001). These maps were simplistic but denoted major geographic landmarks. Prospectors would then use the land survey maps as a starting point and later add what they perceived as the best routes of travel and where to place mining claims in a region.

“Although mining and mapping seem to be two separate enterprises-the former physical, the latter cerebral- they are interrelated….Maps are among the most important tools used by mining interests to first identify, and then to claim, work, capitalize, and develop properties”

(Francaviglia 2001; 80). Maps can be powerful tools for highlighting multiple historic levels of 67 use within a landscape because they are a tangible representation of peoples’ interactions with a region (Melnick 1983).

Inventory of a Landscape

In order to compile a map that encompasses both the current spatial distribution of artifacts and the stratigraphy of historic interactions on the landscape, a comprehensive inventory must be done. These inventories consist of a multitude of methodologies that combine to create an in-depth historical background. These methodologies can illuminate the connections between the landscape and context in which it appears; archival work, object analysis, interviews, aerial photos, and field surveys all help to build historical context (Hardesty 2000). By conducting an inventory that pulls from numerous sources analysis of each historical layer can be ascertained from the landscape (Lock and Harris 1997). Cataloging the current usage simultaneously with previous manipulations allows for landscape level management.

Comprehensive landscape inventories should consist of more than a singular list of attributes. Landscapes contain of a network of cultural connections, both tangible and intangible.

By acknowledging these connections as a management tool landscape level preservation can move away from cataloging heritage “as a neat list of items” (Moylan et al. 2009; 460). When compiled together both maps and catalogs can illustrate the detailed networks within a landscape

(Moylan et al. 2009). However, catalogues must be complete because partial ones provide little assistance in deciphering layers of historic manipulation. Being able to isolate individual deposits of interactions while understanding the role each layer plays in the landscape’s history is the basis for landscape preservation.

Landscapes Consist of Layers

The need for a compressive landscape inventory is imperative to recognize the multiple layers of historic interactions within cultural landscapes. Histories could not be shared without the marriage of landscapes and culture; they need to exist to present context (Andrews and Zoe

1997). Mining sites and industrial landscapes present a bridge between spatial association and distinct land uses in specific areas. “They [industrial landscapes] reflect the cumulative history of industry-related land use practices, ecological or natural responses to industrial practices, distinctive patterns of spatial organization, and cultural traditions” (Hardesty and Little 2009:

132). However, when preserving these sites as landscapes it is often difficult to discern a method that accurately reflects these ideas to the public.

Cultural landscapes consist of consecutive layers of human interactions with the natural features of the landscape. Melnick compares the interactions humans have with a cultural landscape as the “tangible legacy of one generation pass down to another” (Melnick 1983; 88).

While this explanation encapsulates the traditional connections between a group of people with a landscape it does not discuss the observable traces left on the landscape (Jones and Daugstad

1997). The sequential progression of interactions with the landscape produces the features that are visible today; thus, all should be included when preserving a cultural landscape. Cataloging the cultural landscape can aid in distinguishing the layers of historic use for preservation.

Typically, landscapes require an inventory of the physical remains left behind from the interactions along with an archival background search. “Cultural landscape analysis requires those who measure cultural landscapes to reconstruct the layered uses that have occurred on the land during historic or prehistoric times. The steps include an inventory and accompanying documentation of the value of the cultural landscape features found” (Taylor 2002; 96). Analysis 69 of each layer individually can help to better understand the cultural landscape as a whole.

Managers of public lands, especially parks, need to acknowledge the potential for multi-layer historic use denoted within landscapes (Melnick 1983).

Cultural landscapes are inherently designed based on their inner and outer connections and their chronological phases of historic use reflect that (Berte et al. 2013). However, unified landscape preservation is difficult to present to the public. Gobster, Nassauer, Daniel, and Fry discussed the problems with interpreting European landscapes because of their distinct stratigraphy of culture and history. They argue that visitors who viewed the landscape each had specific personal beliefs on what the authentic European landscape was and whether that consisted of solely natural aspects or a mixture of natural and cultural. This dilemma brought on questions such as “What is the authentic landscape? Which time period should be given precedence? Whose expectations count?” (Gobster et al. 2007; 968). These questions are similar to what managers are confronted with in the United States when faced with preserving an all- inclusive cultural landscape.

Preserving a Landscape does not Equate to Freezing One Aspect

Presenting cultural landscapes’ levels of historic use in a comprehensive manner is difficult. This hardship causes agencies to simplify landscapes by often selecting one historical layer for public consumption. Agencies like the National Park Service (NPS) who deal with landscapes must make decisions on which state, or phase in time, the landscape will be preserved in (Alanen and Melnick 2000; Lowenthal 1979). By choosing one specific phase to preserve, the landscape no longer accurately represents a holistic past. Instead the landscape is forced into a false static state that restricts modern interactions with it. In doing so, the managing party places 70 importance on one specific history over another. What makes landscape level preservation so unique is that it allows for each layer of history to be recognized in a dynamic state.

Preservation has come to be understood as freezing a property or landscape to a specific period of its history (Webb 1987; Francaviglia 2000). While this methodology is appropriate for artifacts or historical sites because it creates an easily consumable story for the public, it is difficult to apply the same concept to cultural landscapes because it does not represent its holistic history. Integrity of a site or landscape is based in the “physical condition of soundness, completeness, or wholeness” (Howett 2000; 186). Therefore, in order to preserve a landscape all historic levels of interactions must be identified and interpreted together because they each tell a specific chapter in the landscape’s history. “Manage cultural landscapes, not artifacts in isolation” (Russell and Jambrecina 2002; 132). Managers of cultural landscapes need to acknowledge each historical episode for preservation and move away from selecting one fragment of the site’s history for public consumption.

By choosing one aspect of a location’s story to present to the public, all others are intentionally ignored. “Preservation and interpretation are themselves political acts…” (Watt

2011:16). Due to this, partnerships and collaborative methodologies are vital for landscape preservation. When agencies work in association with each other or other groups it allows both parties to acknowledge biases regarding the project (Andrews and Zoe 1997). Establishing working relationships between parties creates an integrated perspective for interpreting the current landscape while promoting beneficial discussions for future projects.

Landscape managers need to show the public more than what is visible currently on landscape, they need to describe past elements and uses of the landscape as well. Dr. Laura Watt uses the example of Joshua Tree National Park (JTNP) to emphasize the need to acknowledge 71 multiple aspects within a landscape. She explains that within JTNP, the NPS has chosen to interpret the history of settlement through remaining relics like the Keys Ranch. By choosing to preserve and present this phase of use to the public, the NPS omits both the native tribes’ long- standing interactions with the land and more recent connections such as the shrine to Gram

Parsons, a well-known musician from the 1960s-1970s, who often visited the park (Watt 2011).

This viewpoint of the JTNP story that is placed in front of the public is not the most modern one, but it is one that relates to the ‘mythic west’ ideal of frontiers and settlement (Watt 2011; McNair

2009; Church 2017).

Remote landscapes require unique preservation techniques. Rural landscapes can be preserved unintentionally due to inactivity by either the land manager or the public; thus, creating landscapes of “stagnation” (Francaviglia 2000; 51). Stagnation of a landscape does not mean the landscape is void of current human interactions. Francaviglia explains that this term is used to create a separation between current landscape use and the continuation of traditional historical interactions. Local communities are integral to rural landscapes because they are often the ones utilizing those areas for recreational purposes. Russell and Jambrecina highlight the importance of including the rural communities in restoration and preservation projects of cultural resources within wilderness areas because those communities are the ones recreating in that location or have a deep connection to that area’s history (Russell and Jambrecina 2002).

Landscapes that are being utilized for modern recreation should not have their current usage overshadow their previous historic layers; instead connections through modern recreation should blend the past with the present.

Modern Landscape Interactions

Modern users’ connections to a landscape can overwhelm past interactions making it difficult to identify each layer. For example, in Jennifer Redmond’s thesis, “Tesla: Interpreting an Invisible Landscape,” she examined Carnegie State Vehicular Recreation Area for possible interpretive management for cultural resources within park boundaries. This state OHV park was created with the goal of establishing an area for family-friendly OHV riding (Redmond 2009).

Therefore, Redmond wanted to create a method of interpretation of the cultural resources within the park for two main reasons: to allow the public who recreate in the park to understand the parks previous historical backgrounds of this cultural landscape, and to encourage the public to value and protect the historic layers while recreating. This is an interesting example to note due to the lack of knowledge about the historic uses and the town of Tesla before surveying took place long after the park was erected for OHV use.

One layer of a landscape’s history cannot dominate the story if the area is going to truly be managed as a landscape. Each cultural interaction must be recognized in an all-inclusive manner.

While OHV routes within a cultural landscape provide a unique opportunity for interpretation, tourism surrounding the tangible heritage is another avenue. Americans place a significant value on the ability to recreate in their strikingly scenic public lands (Gobster et al.

2007). Places that have physical remains of their heritage intermixed with recreational opportunities allow the public to experience aspects of local and regional history through rural tourism (Jones and Daugstad 1997). The integrity of physical heritage within the landscape is vital for a “step-back in time” experience; integrity can be either design or association

(Francaviglia 2000; Lowenthal 1979). Tourism to rural areas through the marriage of recreation and heritage landscape interpretation is a powerful tool that should be utilized more frequently. 73

Industrial sites, like rural landscapes, can immensely benefit from tourism. Wu, Xie, and

Tsai explain how people grew to perceive Taiwanese salt mining sites as appealing areas for heritage tourism. “Salt fields are sites of resource extraction and production which have increasingly been viewed in terms of their cultural, heritage, aesthetic and recreational values for postindustrial service activities such as tourism” (Wu et al. 2015; 202). Salt mining is seen as culturally significant to the local communities surrounding the mines because it leaves visible scars on the landscape and drastically shaped the rural economies. By utilizing these sites as tourist destinations local communities can continue their traditional mining techniques, generate jobs in the local area, and inform the public about the cultural landscape they have created over generations (Wu et al. 2015). This form of tourism is important to highlight because it relies on the cultures who created the cultural landscape to preserve and interpret it for the public; tourists left the mining sites describing salt extraction as “labor intensive, a marked seasonal character, and dependent on weather conditions” (Wu et al. 2015; 203).

Cultural landscapes can provide an opportunity for tourism that is unlike any other.

Tourists who interact with cultural landscapes can encounter what Wu, Xie, and Tsai define as an “experience-scape” (Wu et al. 2015; 203). In doing so, visitors can understand that the significance of the cultural landscape expands beyond the physical remains that initially drew them to the site but in the traditional interactions that shaped the landscape (Russell and

Jambrecina 2002). By interacting with the holistic landscape visitors can understand how each historic chapter shaped the landscape into what it is today. This all-encompassing viewpoint on cultural landscape preservation allows for landscapes to be examined as a system both within its own bureaucratic borders and within the large-scale spatial network. These landscape ideals are important to establish for cultural resources that span borders. 74

Cultural resources that traverse multiple jurisdictions should not have their management be dispersed among numerous parties. This project proposes resources that cross boundaries should instead be examined and managed cooperatively at a landscape level. This proposition draws from the inherent ideals that cultural landscapes: consist of a marriage between natural and cultural aspects, are fluid beings that cannot be restricted by partitions, and must acknowledge each layer of human manipulation in order to present a holistic viewpoint of the landscape itself.

This management technique can expand to include industrial archaeology sites and roadways resulting in highlighting an elaborate network of interaction. A network can be identified through cataloging sites and mapping the spatial distribution of them across the landscape. Through this management technique cultural resources that traverse borders can be managed cohesively and present a unified story.

Chapter IV: Methods of Data Collection

This thesis originated as a project from a BLM DHA internship through Americorps during the summer of 2017 for the BLM Bishop Field Office. The goal for that project was to conduct a pedestrian survey of the western slope of the SVST and compile a Microsoft Access database of condition reports and vegetation encroachment for each tower. However, after initial surveying was performed, the numerous levels of historic interactions with the landscape became apparent.

The internship project then was adapted into this thesis.

Two main research questions reside at the core of this thesis. The first aims to address cultural resources that lay on boundaries like the SVST on a landscape level. Can the SVST serve as an example for why cultural resources on borders need to be cohesively protected under a landscape designation? To address this, archival research was conducted and accompanied by discussions with land managers from each governmental body tasked with caretaking portions of the SVST. The second research question focuses the BLM Bishop Field Office section of the

SVST as a case study for cultural landscape preservation. Can the BLM Bishop Field Office portion of the tram be preserved in a manner that acknowledges and protects each layer of use?

Intensive pedestrian survey was utilized with the goal of recording artifacts, sites, structure locations in order to compile a map that illustrated the cultural landscape of the slope of western

Inyo range. This chapter discusses the methods used to answer the research goals of this project.

Landscape Designation as a Form of Preservation

The SVST poses an interesting preservation scenario because it spans three separate federal management jurisdictions. Is it practical in a management sense to have three federal agencies collaboratively agree to the treat the SVST as one encompassing unit instead of treating each section as separate entity? This thesis aims to propose preserving the SVST at a landscape 76 level because preserving the tram holistically across federal boundaries benefits the structure itself. Understanding the management policies and regulations is vital for deciphering the distinctly separate management plans currently in place. While all managing parties are departments within the United States Department of Interior, noting any differences in how they chose to manage their portion of the SVST can shed light on each agency’s goals. These research goals critique both the creation and current management techniques of each federal office’s section.

To further argue for holistic landscape preservation of the SVST, an examination of primary and secondary sources regarding the aerial tram was conducted. Historical texts dating from the years of construction and operation of the tramway view the SVST as a singular unit because it was one large business venture. Modern texts that promote the SVST as a tourist destination also discuss the tramway comprehensively. Can these outlooks be utilized as an arguing point in favor of landscape status? This thesis examined the management techniques of each federal office, the historical documentation, and more recent tourism articles to argue for viewing the SVST as one comprehensive unit.

Correspondence between Parties

This thesis gathered data utilizing several methods. The first method addresses the goal of preserving cultural resources that cross borders as one resource instead of multiple. With the proposal of a holistic management plan between three distinct parties in mind, both in-person and electronic correspondence were conducted regarding the current management plans for each section of the SVST. The historic implementation of communication between agencies regarding the SVST was examined through archival research in order to tie the different levels of deterioration to specific agency action. Including current management decisions alongside past 77 plans is vital for understanding why the SVST is considered three separate units of one large structure.

In order to gather information regarding contemporary management plans, personal communication with each agency was imperative. The goal of these discussions was: obtain information regarding past management strategies, learn about current or upcoming management plans, and examine the state of the tramway in their section. These discussions inadvertently signified the figureheads within each agency office that oversaw the SVST. Because this thesis stems from an internship with the Bishop Field Office, in-person conversations with archaeologist Greg Haverstock regarding the current and past management of the SVST along western slope of the Inyo Range were expanded upon. For the Ridgecrest Field Office, electronic and telephone discussions regarding the SVST and the eastern slope of the Inyo Range were conducted with Wilderness Coordinator Marty Dickes. The Curator of DVNP, Jane Lakeman, provided the necessary information via electronic correspondence in lieu of the park archaeologist. These conservations all highlighted different management practices that reflected each agency’s perspective.

As stated in the historical background chapter, the BLM Bishop Field Office portion of the tram is interwoven with a popular 4x4 road. This means that the western slope of the tramway is more likely to have additional public interface by recreationists than the other two sections. Due to this, the BLM Bishop Field Office has been very proactive in preservation projects since the

1990s. Through examination of the large stabilization project in 1999, thorough records on file at the field office covering the trams history, and the current inter-office discussions regarding the fuels reduction plan, it is clear the Bishop Field Office views the SVST as a significant cultural resource. The Bishop Field Office’s portion of the tram, coupled with the work on the transfer 78 station that sits within Ridgecrest Field Office’s jurisdiction, has undergone a series of projects that stem directly from the Bishop Field Office’s archaeologists both past and present (Kirk

Halford Notes; Greg Haverstock, Personal Communication 2018). By establishing the archaeologists as the project leads and point of contact for inquiries regarding the SVST, the

Bishop Field Office takes a clear stance stating that the SVST is a cultural resource and a significant piece of history within the wilderness identity of the Inyo range.

This differs dramatically from the BLM Ridgecrest Field Office’s approach toward preserving the SVST. Due to the remoteness of the eastern slope of the Inyos, this section of the tram is the most intact and has the least amount of public interactions. Management plans stemming from Ridgecrest primarily hold the wilderness value of the land ahead of the historical value of the SVST. During discussions with the BLM Ridgecrest Field Office about their management views, little was said about preserving the tramway because of its historic significance or NHRP listing. Instead the discussions consistently stemmed from wanting to preserve and manage the wilderness aspects of the Inyo Mountains.

By managing the eastern slope of the Inyo range with the chief viewpoint of preserving a wilderness, the Ridgecrest Field Office is in turn dissuading human interaction by not providing easy accessibility to the SVST structures. Similarly, by not acknowledging and interpreting the

SVST, the Ridgecrest Field Office is again placing wilderness above cultural importance. Both

DVNP and the BLM Bishop Field Office have placed signage explaining the historical significance of the salt tram in their managing portions. By choosing to not engage with visitors, the Ridgecrest Field Office is in turn removing the middle section of the tramway from what would be a cohesive and holistic story presented to the public. This outlook on preservation is supported by appointing Marty Dickes, the wilderness coordinator for the Ridgecrest Field 79

Office, the project lead for the fuels reduction and as point of contact for questions regarding that section of the tram.

DVNP hosts a uniquely different set of management scenarios and tactics regarding their portion of the SVST. DVNP absorbed the Saline Valley region, and their segment of the SVST, according to the CDPA of 1994. However, the portion of the SVST that resided within Saline

Valley was already degraded immensely by scavengers because structures were easily accessible.

Currently all that remains of the eastern terminus of the SVST is four small towers. While a stabilization project for these four towers “is in the queue,” no further management plans have been conducted beyond pedestrian survey and condition reports. Due to the towers’ location on the salt pan, no fuels reduction is needed. It is important to note that DVNP recognizes that the

SVST has immense interpretative value and has placed signage explaining the historical significance of the SVST near the remaining towers. In electronic correspondence with Jane

Lakeman, she stated that the SVST would normally be allotted to the park archaeologist; however, DVNP currently does not have an archaeologist on staff, so questions regarding the tram were directed to her. Preservation of the tram is seen as important, yet it has been overlooked in favor of other projects due to the remoteness of Saline Valley.

Understanding how each managing party views their portion of the SVST is important because it provides context for past and present projects. Each section poses its own challenges; each party brings their own beliefs to their management. It is important to note that both DVNP and the BLM Bishop Field Office, who manage opposing ends of the tramway, acknowledge the

SVST as a significant resource and have, or are planning to, conduct extensive projects rehabilitating, stabilizing, and interpreting these structures for the public. The middle section, which is managed by the BLM Ridgecrest Field Office, has undergone no management or 80 interpretation, beyond the current fuels project, where the SVST is viewed as significant resource and that portion continuously holds the wilderness value above the historical significance. This gap in viewpoints causes a schism in what would be a unified portrayal and management of the

SVST. The agencies’ values are evident in who they designate as project lead or point of contact for the SVST. Acknowledging this through personal communication with each party illustrated the management context and current condition of each tram section. Examining each section within their current management boundaries was the first step toward piecing sections back together in form a unified perspective.

Archival Research

Due to the SVST being listed on the NRHP and its location within multiple land managing agencies’ districts, numerous reports and documentation of its management exist.

While some of these reports were unearthed through archival research at the Eastern California

Museum (ECM), most were obtained through contact with each agency. Under the Freedom of

Information Act documentation, results of environmental reports and past and current management plans can be obtained from federal offices. The documentation that was done during each shift of the boundaries helped create historical background for each managing section. Understanding how each managing portion of the tramway evolved and built upon previous work was important for conceptualizing each agencies viewpoint.

After inspecting each portion of the SVST individually from a land management perspective, historical documents were utilized in the argument for an integrated management stance. Archival research was conducted at the ECM’s repository in Independence, California, and at the Maturango Museum in Ridgecrest, California. Reports, historic photographs, newspaper articles, tourism articles from various magazines, and the diary of Henry Clifton 81

Paterson, a man who worked on the SVST during its early operational years, were all collected to develop a better understanding of the SVST’s history. Since the SVST was a large business venture that employed locals for daily operations and it was placed on the NRHP in 1974, there is an extensive amount of documentation illustrating its historical context.

Historical documentation was vital for understanding how the SVST was viewed during its operational years. The SVST was erected to increase the amount of salt harvested from the salt flat in Saline Valley for profit. Throughout every newspaper article, architectural design plans, tourism articles from Desert Magazine, and the daily logs of operations in Paterson’s diary, all recount the SVST as one large entity. This viewpoint directly stems from the economical reason for its creation. Each individual tower, transfer station, wire, cable relay, and salt bucket all participated in moving salt across the landscape; every aspect of the SVST worked simultaneously toward a common goal. This holistic viewpoint was lost in the latter half of the

1900s when strict borders between agencies were established and later shifted to their current positions.

Case Study of Landscape Preservation on the Western Slope of the SVST

The Inyo Mountains are an intricate network of extractive industrial sites. The western slope has seen three distinct phases of interactions with the landscape. Charcoal reduction along the upper elevations that supplied nearby mining town of Cerro Gordo, the SVST, and its current use as a wilderness area with a cherry-stemmed 4x4 road all have left visible indicators on the western slope. Each phase played a vital role in the shaping the landscape into its modern form; thus, they should all be included when examining for landscape preservation. By examining each historic interaction on the western slope this case study tested if landscape level preservation was achievable. 82

Identifying charcoal sites along the western slope in relationship with the SVST highlighted patterns of site distribution across the landscape. What specifically was the pattern in their location across the landscape? Are the charcoal sites clustered near the tram, spread evenly across the upper elevation areas, or congregated closer to other mining sites? This analysis illuminated a larger network of charcoal reduction within the Inyos.

Roadways and trails also acted as links between sites. The cherry-stemmed 4x4 route and trails between the charcoal reduction sites directed the movement of people and goods within the landscape. During the identification of these pathways questions regarding their future preservation arose. Can the current use of the landscape, the trail, act as a tool for future stewardship for the previous layers? Similarly, can the 4x4 trail be preserved and not further restricted due to its location within a wilderness area? These questions directly address the current interactions with the landscape and attempt to preserve them as their own layer within the landscape’s history.

Historic Photographs

During the process of archival research at the ECM, a collection of historic photographs illustrating the constructing the tram and its early operations was unearthed. The David Hill

Collection was gifted to the ECM in 2010 by Mr. Hill himself and it consists an 87-page photo album that includes photo negatives and a topographic map of the SVST. The pages hold roughly

5-8 captioned photos per page that document daily life on the SVST. The photos not only provided a snapshot for what the tramway looked like just after its construction but proved an invaluable resource for conceptualizing the written documentation.

The David Hill Collection provided an excellent point of reference for examining the condition SVST. The tramway traverses the Inyo Mountain range which is susceptible to 83 extraordinarily high wind events. During survey of the SVST some of the toppled towers and stations displayed jagged rough splits in the wooden beams, which can be signs of breakage by wind. The photographs from the David Hill Collection show all the towers upright and in use.

Being able to view the SVST towers in operation and comparing them to their current condition was advantageous to understanding the location of the toppled towers that displayed signs of wind damage. From this comparison and locational information provided the toppled towers with possible wind damage were located mainly on the crests and on either side of a steep drainages.

The photos provided from the collection allowed for analysis that corresponded with high wind events and further site disturbances.

By utilizing the collection of historic photos for comparison overall degradation of the

SVST became apparent. High wind events were not the sole culprit of collapse; purposeful removal of wooden beams and associated artifacts from structures aided in the toppling or complete removal of towers. Structures that were easily accessible via the 4x4 route showed increased signs of activity with scavengers. The historic photos validated that structural beams or artifacts such as washers or buckets were once located on the towers. Similarly, the photos illuminated the scale of each terminus that no longer exist. The eastern terminus in Saline Valley and the western terminus on the shore of Owens Dry Lake were immense structures, meant to house large quantities of salt and materials for operation, yet neither still stands; all that remains of these large buildings are the foundations. Comparing the current condition of the SVST to its condition during its early operational years supported findings in the field that indicated intentional removal of artifacts.

Historic photos were equally valuable for understanding the biological landscape of the

Inyos. As previously stated, the David Hill Collection provided an excellent snapshot of the 84 tramway during its early operational years. Large sweeping shots of the terrain were represented in photos that captured a series of SVST structures. Comparing the historic photos to current conditions reveals that the lower elevations’ ecosystems had not changed as drastically as the upper elevations; the forest belt in the higher reaches was considerably thinner due to charcoal reduction in the historic photos as visible in Figure 4.1. This change is the most noticeable in photographs documenting the summit station and first four towers, where there was a high density of charcoal reduction.

Figure 10: "Station 20, at the summit, looking southeast" from the David Hill Collection. Image used with permission from the ECM. The historic photos show sparse tree stands, contrasted with the densely packed forest belt that now shapes the ridgeline. During its operational years the tramway did not have to maneuver around large stands of trees because of the immense thinning that stands underwent for charcoal reduction. This is important to note because the Inyo Range is now a designated wilderness area and the thinning of tree stands can only be conducted through a lengthy process with studies supporting that management approach. Because of this, the forest belt has 85 surrounded and engulfed structures associated with the SVST, and current land managers are faced with creating a fuels management project to mitigate tree encroachment on SVST structures in case of wildfire. The need for a fuels project acted as a catalyst for intensive pedestrian survey and inventory of the western slope of the SVST for the BLM Bishop Field

Office.

Figure 11: Photo of summit station after cabin stabilization project. Image used with permission from BLM Bishop Field Office. Intensive Pedestrian Survey

Due to the remoteness of the SVST, a pedestrian survey of the western slope of the SVST had not been previously conducted. As previously stated, the BLM Bishop Field Office did a restoration project on the caretaker’s cabin at the summit station in 1999, which conducted an initial survey of the ridgeline and collected locational information of a few charcoal reduction 86 sites. However, until this current project, there was not a detailed survey of the tramway line beyond the summit station. This project not only provided a condition report regarding vegetation encroachment, but it also produced a site record for each individual tower structure.

The survey was only possible by employing the BLM Bishop Field Office’s government vehicles for use on the 4x4 route.

The entrance to tramway is located roughly one hour south of the BLM Bishop Field

Office and requires a vehicle with a short wheelbase and high clearance in order to access various sections of the tram. This project utilized the BLM Bishop Field Office’s Polaris side-by- sides to drive the 4x4 trail and carry gear to the project area. In order to operate the BLM side- by-side, successful completion of the federal UTV/ATV training is required. After obtaining the certificate, the pedestrian survey began in the summer of 2017. The side-by-side was towed from the BLM Bishop Field Office to the project area just outside of Keeler, California, where the truck was parked, and the side-by-side unloaded at the base of the Swansea Grade. Much consideration had to be given for logistical support due to the project’s location and extreme environment such as: ample food and water, a medical first aid kit, a shovel, multiple layers of clothing, maps, familiarity of local flora and fauna, and emergency satellite communications.

Safety was of the utmost importance during the pedestrian survey.

The project area for this thesis is located within a remote wilderness area which required numerous safety precautions. For example, for survey locations above five thousand feet in elevation or more than one mile on the 4x4 trail, a second person was mandated to accompany the survey as a “safety buddy.” The second person would assist in the pedestrian survey, but their primary responsibility was to be present and act as a second point of contact to dispatch in case of injury. Numerous people ranging from personal friends, family members, and other BLM 87

Bishop Field Office staff volunteered to be safety buddies. In return for supporting this project, each volunteer received basic training in archaeological survey methods.

Since this project’s origins stem from an internship and the survey work was weather- dependent, the dates of the pedestrian surveys were sporadic. A vast majority of the survey took place during the summer months because school was not in session and weather conditions were more predictable. However, the summer of 2018 saw an uptick in prevalent thunderstorms that caused flash floods and wildfires instigated by lightning strikes that greatly impacted the lower

Owens Valley and DVNP. These storms created unsafe conditions for the intended survey work and placed a strain on government-owned vehicles that were being utilized by fire resources.

While these impacts are not uncommon, they were difficult to forecast and plan around. Due to these factors, the pedestrian survey underwent intermittent intervals of activity.

Recording Tower Structures and Sites

When weather permitted, inventory and documentation of sites along the western slope took place. Field work for this thesis encompassed an entire day; often resulting in an average of an eleven-hour work day. Therefore, each portion of the survey was discussed and goals were set the day before. Things like where the UTV was going to be parked, a minimally invasive hiking route to the SVST structures, and an agreed-upon minimum amount of structures that were to be mapped during the survey were all strategically planned. The purpose of this survey was to examine the western slope as a case study for landscape level preservation.

Intensive pedestrian survey of the western side of the Inyo mountains along the path of the

SVST began in the summer of 2017 and concluded in the spring of 2019. While surveying, locations of towers and stations were marked using a Trimble or a Garmin GPS unit. This resulted in a total of fifty-four of the seventy-six SVST structures recorded; the entire tramway 88 was not completed due to time constraints and variable weather. Forms were constructed depending on the tower’s integrity; each structure was classified as upright or toppled.

Associated artifacts along the path of the SVST were noted and documented as well. The records of the SVST structures and their associated artifacts were the most detailed of the survey.

The documentation process of the SVST was similar to creating a Department of Parks and

Recreation (DPR) site record form for each individual structure. A site overview describing the location and immediate surroundings of the site was recorded. Understanding the setting of each tower along with its placement within the tramway was imperative. Each tower and station was assigned a number in correspondence to its distance from the summit station; the first tower heading west and down slope of the station was Tower #1, the next was Tower #2, etc. While a location and sketch map were created for each structure the similarities to a DPR form end there.

The forms for both the “toppled” and “upright” towers are attached in Appendix A.

The forms were created to simplify the recording process without sacrificing site-specific details. For example, stumps that appear to have been historically cut were recorded near the vicinity of the structures. In order to build the SVST over 1.3 million board feet of Douglas Fir was brought in by the Saline Valley Salt Company (Virtual Transportation Museum 2011;

Halford notes 1999). The local forest belt was not exploited to erect the SVST structures, but pinyon and juniper were the preferred tree species for charcoal reduction. While it is possible that trees within the forest belt were cut to allow for SVST structures, it seems unlikely that clusters of stumps located downslope from the summit station and near the first transfer station were cultivated with that intent. Therefore, the historic stumps corresponded with previous historical interactions. Due to this noting their location was important for examining the western slope as a landscape. Another reason to delineate their location was to mitigate for a future fuels 89 reduction project. Including the stumps into the fuels reduction plan allows for preservation of more than one preferred historic interaction and supports landscape level management.

Documentation of the SVST required an individualized assessment of each structure for disturbances. The two most documented disturbances from this survey fell under natural or human caused. Natural disturbances, such as towers toppling due to high wind events, were prevalent in locations along steep washes or crests. Thus, noting the appearance of the wood at the breaking point on toppled structures was vital for estimating if the disturbance was natural.

Boards that appeared to have harsh jagged edges near joists were more likely be indicators that the tower toppled due to a high wind event. This distinguishing feature was important to note when determining if the structure’s integrity was diminished by natural causes or human interaction.

Disturbances by scavengers were predominantly located where structures were easily accessible via the Swansea Grade. Unlike the natural disturbances where the structures were mainly classified as toppled, disturbances rooted in human interface were visible on both upright and toppled structures. Missing hardware, neat stacks of sorted artifacts, and purposeful removal of boards are just a few of the indicators of disturbances via scavengers. Evidence of the amputation of boards was straight, neatly cut edges that bounded a gap in the side or base of the tower or station. The most commonly removed boards were long structural ones. Similarly, artifacts that appeared removed via heat torches or were piled into neat stacks were also recorded. Removal of artifacts from the SVST has been well documented throughout the years and is not uncommon due to the uniqueness of the site.

The survey of the tramway resulted in extensive documentation of historic era interactions with the landscape. Cans, bottles, and mechanical parts highly populated the survey 90 area and their printed dates corresponded to periods of SVST operation. However, one prehistoric artifact was found amongst the first four towers leading westward from the summit station: an incised stone tablet. Per the request of Greg Haverstock, the tablet’s location was marked with the Garmin GPS unit and the specimen was collected. This artifact was an isolate and no other indicators of prehistoric habitation were found within the survey area.

Recording Charcoal Reduction Sites

While surveying the SVST, evidence of historic charcoal reduction near the tram or the 4x4 trail was recorded. The location and any associated features or trails leading to the charcoal stains was noted with a Trimble or Garmin GPS Unit. Numerous cultivation sites, a possible trail linking sites, and historic stumps were recorded between the summit station and the first transfer station. This segment of the SVST traverses the ridgeline and upper forest belt of the Inyos. After recording the cultivation sites along the western slope in relationship with the SVST, a pattern of site distribution was noticeable.

Charcoal reduction sites were more pronounced on the southern crests within the survey area.

The area with the largest cluster of cultivation sites was directly downslope and south of the summit station. Similarly, at the first transfer station was situated on a nearly barren crest; substantially less tree encroachment than the summit station and an increased number of historic stumps. Linking these two zones was the remains of a possible trail. Carbonari regularly created networks of access trails between their pit locations and the forest belt (Chapman 2000). This collection of sites, except for one outlier, were the only remains of charcoal reduction found during the survey.

When combining the results of the survey with historic photographs it became evident that the region where the pits were located was historically stripped of pinyon and juniper trees. The 91

Inyo range saw a large decrease in stand density in the late 1900s due to the carbonari’s resource consumption (Likes 2010; Straka and Wynn 2010a). In Figure 3.1 the carbonari trail that connected the pit charring location to the historic stumps is visible leading up to the summit station. In his paper for the American Society of Civil Engineers, Carstarphen describes how “an old charcoal road” came within one mile of the summit station and was utilized in the construction of the current road along the ridgeline of the Inyos (Carstarphen 1917; 716). The trail discovered in the survey and historic photographs could have been part a trail system linking this cluster of sites to a larger network to the south of the SVST.

Recording the Swansea Grade

In order to conduct the survey, the Swansea Grade was regularly driven. This 4x4 route has grown in popularity over recent years and therefore has been subject to increased foot traffic.

Between survey periods it was not uncommon for off-road groups, both big and small, to visit the SVST via the Swansea Grade. Visitation was noted through social media via sites like

Facebook and Instagram where groups would promote their trips. While this trail boasts excellent vistas of the Owens Valley and Saline Valley, it also provides the recreator the ability to view the SVST relatively closely.

As previously stated, this 4x4 route is a cherry stem within a designated wilderness area.

The Swansea Grade was utilized during the construction of the SVST and acts as an access point for the wilderness area. There are roughly six roads that diverged from the main route that lead directly to the tower sites but were closed with the passing of the CDPA of 1994. In order to preserve the wilderness aspects of the Inyo Mountains the BLM Bishop Field Office implemented the road closures in adherence to the CDPA. During the survey it became apparent that tower and station sites that were easily accessible from the road saw an increase in human 92 disturbances such as removed hardware and detached boards. Scavengers have been recorded going as far as to remove entire salt buckets and wheelhouses (IR 1993).

The Swansea Grade unintentionally provides visitors with the landscape narrative of the western slope of the Inyo Mountains. As this modern interaction with the landscape makes its way into the wilderness area, it interweaves itself with previous historic layers; it crosses under the SVST three times and passes next to the summit station which is just uphill from the charcoal reduction sites. Therefore, it is imperative to both preserve this current usage and work with the public that chooses to recreate there. This project marked the Swansea Grade with a Garmin GPS system and aerial images with the intent of adding it to the completed map as the modern interaction with the landscape.

Mapping the Western Slope

The survey of SVST along the western slope of the Inyo Mountains resulted in collecting

GPS coordinates for three separate historic layers. After the data was gathered from the Trimble and Garmin GPS units it was compiled and integrated on a singular map using ArcMap 10.6 software. Insuring that each of these layers is represented separately is important. By illustrating the landscape in this manner each interaction is shown both individually and cohesively. Cultural landscapes consist of a network of interactions built upon each other that inherently change the morphology of the landscape; omitting one of these layers would not accurately portray the landscape of the western slope.

The primary goal of mapping the BLM Bishop Field Office’s portion of the tramway was to test if landscape level management was feasible. By focusing solely on this section, which is the largest managing section, the tramway was extensively recorded and two other phases of historic interactions were mapped comprehensively. Recording and mapping the western slope of 93 the Inyos in this manner was the initial step for understanding the intricate web of exchanges that created that landscape. Compiling the data through ArcMap allowed this map to be foundation for future projects such as expansion of the cultural landscape to include the two other federal managing portions.

Two research questions were at the center of this thesis and greatly shaped the structure of the methodology. Archival research and in-depth discussions with land managers addressed the primary question regarding the need for the SVST to be preserved cooperatively and cohesively at a landscape level. Intensive pedestrian survey accompanied by recording and mapping each layer of the western slope were utilized to examine the Bishop Field Office’s managing portion as a case study for landscape level management. By using the SVST as an example for landscape level management aspects of the site that add to its uniqueness, such as the regions remoteness and tendency for inclement weather, created unforeseen hurdles that required meticulous planning. Both questions were aimed to test for landscape level preservation of a singular structure and influence future management projects concerning resources that span multiple jurisdictions through the lens of a cultural landscape.

Chapter V: Conclusion

This project argues for cultural resources that traverse borders to be examined as landscapes, and that cooperative management of one singular resource is needed instead of designating segments to corresponding management parties. As previously stated, this project originated from a DHA internship project surveying the SVST along the western slope.

However, this thesis is the first step for the Bishop Field Office’s fuels project and Section 106 report. By utilizing the Bishop Field Office’s portion as a case study for landscape level management, sites were identified beyond the SVST that should be incorporated into its management. Discussions regarding the fuels project have expanded to include clearing vegetation within 50- 100 meters of the tram structures while incorporating the charcoal reduction sites and historic stumps.

The fuels mitigation project and the corresponding Section 106 has not been finalized, but this massive undertaking is on the horizon for the Bishop Field Office. It is important to highlight that the vegetation overgrowth near the SVST acted as a catalyst for a fuels project because managing parties are “responsible for the protection of historic property” (U.S.

Congress, Senate 1966; S. 306131). However, by including the charcoal reduction sites into the early planning for the fuels project, the Bishop Field Office is inadvertently managing the western slope as a landscape. For example, while there is a clear circumference of vegetation removal needed around each structure of the SVST, it is also noted in discussions that on-site burning will not be permitted as to not confuse between charcoal stains and burn piles (Sara

Manley, personal communications 2018). Incorporating both phases of historic interactions with the landscape into the project early on supports the notion that landscapes should be preserved in a holistic nature (Howett 2000; Russell and Jambrecina 2002). 95

Areas of Further Research

The concept that landscapes are fluid and therefore cannot be constricted within bureaucratic borders is central to this project. That idea paired with the landscape’s inherent construction through layers of manipulative human interactions and intricate networks connecting sites is what makes a landscape level management approach an important option for the SVST. When examining resources as a landscape, it becomes impossible to consider them within only one specific phase of the landscape’s past. Cultural landscapes are not created in a vacuum; they are cultivated through a codependent relationship between humans and the land.

Due to this, landscapes must be examined as a network built on the relationships between sites and natural resources.

SVST is One Piece of a Larger Network

Survey of the SVST coupled with archival research of the Inyo range illuminated the area’s rich history of resource extraction. Much of eastern California and DVNP’s historic era cultural resources are associated, either directly or indirectly, with its mining past. One of the goals of the case study was to record sites within the path of the SVST along the western slope.

During the survey it was not uncommon to see physical remains of mining operations on hillsides adjacent to the study area. The SVST is just one fragment of a large network of mining sites within the Inyos.

Extractive resources played a pivotal role in shaping of the Inyos. Whether the extractive resource was mining or cutting down tree stands for charcoal each interaction with the landscape left marks that tell a unique chapter of the landscapes story. Some sites like Cerro Gordo or

Beveridge have already been researched extensively, but many of the smaller mining sites historical background has been overlooked. Research into possible connections between sites 96 through reuse of road systems or repurposed artifacts has yet to be conducted. This avenue of investigation was outside of the scope for this project but could possibly illuminate a larger network work of sites and expand the known cultural landscape parameters.

The landscape of the Inyos has visible indicators of mining originating in the 1800s and spanning to modern day. Deep pits and structure foundations are discernable from highway 136 but become increasingly more pronounced further into the Inyos. Most of these mining operations are no longer in use, but a mining claim recently was approved for Conglomerate

Mesa. “Conglomerate Mesa is on the doorstep of Death Valley National Park and adjacent to the

Inyo Mountains and Malpais Mesa Wilderness” (Sierra Wave Media 2018; 1). The claim holders are hoping to find gold through the process of cyanide heap leach mining (Inyo Register [IR]

2017; Bureau of Land Management, Perdito Exploration Project EA 2017). This approval by the

BLM Ridgecrest Office has created uproar from environmental groups wishing to preserve the local flora and fauna. Mining at Conglomerate Mesa can be viewed in two ways: a continuation of the legacy of mining in and near the Inyo Mountains or as a consternation neighboring a wilderness area.

Charcoal Reduction Sites

One of the concentrations for the case study was to identify and record the charcoal reduction sites along the ridgeline of the Inyos near the SVST. This was an important step to understanding the history of resource dependency within the Inyos. The charcoal reduction sites were their own historical phase linking the survey area to the nearby mining town of Cerro

Gordo. Similarly, segments of the trails built by the carbonari near the summit station were reworked into the Swansea Grade and used to bring supplies to various parts of the SVST during 97 its construction. While this thesis recorded several reduction sites in the vicinity of the SVST it is believed that the sites become congested closer to the townsite of Cerro Gordo.

This thesis only allowed for denoting the location of pit charring sites in relationship to the SVST, but the charcoal reduction sites have immense research potential. A comparative analysis of soil samples should be conducted between charcoal reduction sites and undisturbed soil to test for carbon concentrations and view soil stratigraphy possibly showing reuse within charcoal sites (Hirsch et al 2017). This study would assess if the carbonari were bringing surrounding trees to pit charring sites as a central hub, therefore being more selective in their site placement, or creating simplistic single use reduction sites within tree stands. Similarly, surveying and denoting the spatial distribution of the pit charring sites from Cerro Gordo could indicate clusters of preferred tree species for charcoal production within the forest belt. Both avenues of further research regarding the charcoal reduction sites were outside of the scope of this project but should be pursued; Little academic research has been conducted regarding pit charring sites in the Inyo range.

Stewardship projects with OHV Groups

The Swansea grade and the remaining loop through the townsite of Cerro Gordo has grown in popularity in recent years. During the spring and fall it is not uncommon to see posts on social media sites of Overland groups or local 4x4 clubs doing group rides along these trails.

Similarly, Saline Valley within DVNP draws visitors to the area with the hot springs but requires vehicles to have off road capabilities. In order to access the hot springs by the southern entrance to the valley, the visitor drives nearby the remains salt tram terminus and remaining four towers.

The portions of the public that actively visit the regions where the SVST resides all seek the adventure of driving in remote areas. For the Bishop managing portion specifically, the 98 recreational drivers frequent the Swansea Grade for the thrill of driving the demanding route and to see the remains of the SVST.

These OHV groups should be engaged in a site stewardship program for the SVST with the BLM. The BLM defines the goals of site stewardship as “monitoring the condition of archaeological sites, trails and historic structures” (Bureau of Land Management 2012; 1). By formally partnering directly with these groups, the BLM would not only receive systematic updates on the condition of both the trail and the SVST, but it provides the opportunity to educate portions of the public on the importance of protecting cultural resources. When the

Bishop Field Office was undergoing the large stabilization project for the caretaker’s cabin in

1999, they employed volunteers from the Ridgecrest chapter of Gear Grinders to assist in packing supplies into the remote area; therefore, there is precedence for this type of partnership

(Halford notes 1999). Establishing a formal partnership at either a local level with the Eastern

Sierra 4x4 Club or with a regional club like the Ridgecrest chapter of Gear Grinders could open another avenue of collaboration for the future preservation of the SVST and the landscape in which it sits.

Continuation of the Survey

While this thesis examined the SVST as one encompassing unit that spans borders, the focused case study was conducted solely on one managing party’s parcel. The goal of the case study was to examine the western slope in depth at a landscape level. Stages of historic use and reuse were discovered alongside intricate networks linking sites outside of the survey area. The pedestrian survey allowed for identification and comprehensive inventory of resources along the western slope. Continuing the survey for the rest of tramway across the remaining two managing portions would be an excellent opportunity to further test for landscape level management. 99

Pedestrian survey was the chosen methodology for the case study, but other methods may be more suitable for the eastern slope and the Saline Valley portion. Utilizing a drone to survey and photograph the two other managing portions would be a safer alternative than performing pedestrian survey. The eastern slope is steep, rugged, and remote, which requires a high skill level to maneuver let alone survey. The Saline Valley segment of the tramway is equally as difficult due to the remoteness of the site and the amount of delicacy that would be required to survey the terminus and pier that sit on the salt pan. Completing the survey of the other two managing portions is an important step to finalizing the map of the SVST at a landscape level.

What’s Next?

In January of 2017 Senator Feinstein introduced an amendment to the CDPA Bill of 1994 titled the California Desert Protection and Recreation Act (CDPRA) of 2017 (U.S. Congress,

Senate 2017). While the CDPRA was introduced in early 2017, it was not until December 2018 that the Committee on Energy and Natural Resources reported on it. The CDPRA does not inherently change anything from the CDPA of 1994 but instead builds upon its predecessor. This amendment is important to acknowledge in reference to this project for two reasons: it designates new wilderness areas across southern California, and it expands the boundaries of DVNP and

Joshua Tree National Park by altering management jurisdiction from BLM to NPS. The CDPRA was written with the goal of preserving impeccable aspects of the California desert, but not unlike the CDPA of 1994, it can create a grey area for management of resources that will traverse borders that previously did not.

Wilderness designations bestowed upon areas that previously were not considered wild causes friction for preserving and managing cultural resources from the historic period. As previously stated, ‘wilderness’ is often depicted and interpreted by the public as areas that are 100 void of human interaction. This position toward wilderness aesthetics can be harmful for cultural resources because it unintentionally places the ecological importance before cultural significance

(Taylor and Lennon 2011; Russell and Jambrecina 2002; Webb 1987). Preservation projects, especially large-scale ones, often get sidelined or greatly restricted in favor of preserving the false “wilderness” ideals. Cultural resources located in regions that later have wilderness designations placed on them are at risk of not obtaining the level of management required in fear of disturbing the ecological characteristics.

While the Wilderness Act does acknowledge that parcels of designated wilderness can hold historic significance, the problem does not lie solely with the legislative wording (U.S.

Congress, Senate 1964). The root of the dilemma stems from the public perception of wilderness because the commonly held viewpoint is wilderness is land that remains untouched by humankind. When federal land managers undergo formal undertakings, like both fuels reduction projects around SVST structures by the BLM Field Offices’, they must allow for public comment. When the false public notion of untrampled wilderness is forced upon land that has clear indicators of human manipulation, projects can be restricted down, and importance is placed more on the ecological aspects instead of the cultural resource itself. This Catch-22 can only be unraveled when the commonly accepted definition of “Wilderness” is changed in a manner that acknowledges both the culturally historic significance alongside the naturally scenic importance.

Viewing ecological and cultural value with the same importance is imperative for wilderness areas, but a shift in management boundaries can place cultural resources in purgatory.

The CDPRA, just like its predecessor, expands the jurisdictional borders of two parks therefore changing management from BLM to NPS. In doing so any resources that were previously 101 entirely within one party’s domain that now cross over the new border are subjected to multiple management approaches; not unlike what happened with the SVST and the CDPA of 1994.

Identifying and addressing the cultural resources across the new boundary could help mitigate future management problems. This project hopes to provide structural guidance for preserving cultural resources that traverse boundaries at a landscape level through cooperative management.

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Appendix A

Salt Tram Checklist TOPPLED Date: Crew Members:

Tower #: Tower Type:

Trimble File #: Site Overview:

What Direction did the tower fall: ______Are the cables present and running through the tower: ______Are the concrete bases for the tower still present and solid:______Any boards missing from the tower? YES / NO ● If YES, where is the gap from the missing board(s) located on the tower?

Any disturbances? YES / NO ● If YES, describe:

103

Describe the surrounding vegetation (50-100m around towers) and how dense the encroachment is:

Any associated telephone poles? YES / NO ● If YES: ● If the telephone pole is down, which direction did it fall: ______● Note the board type: (i.e. flat or round pole) ______● Measurements of the boards present (LxWxH):______● Are the connectors still present? YES / NO o If YES, note the side of the pole and the connector type present: ______2. Are there any historic stumps near the tower? YES / NO ● If YES, collect a point. Artifact # Description (L x W x Hmm) FS #:

104

Salt Tram Checklist UPRIGHT Date: Crew Members:

Tower #: Tower Type:

Trimble File #: Site Overview:

Are the cables present and running through the tower: ______Any boards missing from the tower? YES / NO ● If YES, where is the gap from the missing board(s) located on the tower?

Are the bolts secure and present? YES / NO Any associated artifacts on the tower or the surrounding area? YES / NO 3. If YES, describe them and their location:

Any disturbances? YES / NO 4. If YES, describe:

105

Describe the surrounding vegetation (50-100m around towers) and how dense the encroachment is:

Any associated telephone poles? YES / NO 5. If YES: ● If the telephone pole is down, which direction did it fall: ______● Note the board type: (i.e. flat or round pole) ______● Measurements of the boards present (LxWxH):______● Are the connectors still present? YES / NO o If YES, note the side of the pole and the connector type present: ______6. Are there any historic stumps near the tower? YES / NO ● If YES, collect a point. Artifact # Description (L x W x Hmm) FS #:

106

Appendix B 107

Appendix B

Correspondence and Permission for Image Use Received: January 11, 2019

Thank you Laurel! You have permission to reuse the following figures in your thesis provided these figures in total do not account for more than 25% of the new work. • Figure 1- Profile, Aerial Tramway, Saline Valley Salt Company, Tramway, CA (page 714), and Figure 2- Location of Aerial Tramway of Saline Valley Salt Company (page 715) o From 1917 "An Aerial Tramway for the Saline Valley Salt Company, Inyo County, California." Transactions of the American Society of Civil Engineers. 81(1): 709-742

A full credit line must be added to the material being reprinted. For reuse in non- ASCE publications, add the words "With permission from ASCE" to your source citation. For Intranet posting, add the following additional notice: "This material may be downloaded for personal use only. Any other use requires prior permission of the American Society of Civil Engineers. This material may be found at [URL/link of abstract in the ASCE Library or Civil Engineering Database].”

Each license is unique, covering only the terms and conditions specified in it. Even if you have obtained a license for certain ASCE copyrighted content, you will need to obtain another license if you plan to reuse that content outside the terms of the existing license. For example: If you already have a license to reuse a figure in a journal, you still need a new license to use the same figure in a magazine. You need a separate license for each edition.

Sincerely,

Leslie Connelly Senior Marketing Coordinator American Society of Civil Engineers 1801 Alexander Bell Drive Reston, VA 20191

108

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