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A recent email from an old friend reminded me of a trip I took in the summer of 1991. It was a pilgrimage to see the oldest trees on Earth.
That journey required flying across the continent and then traveling winding, steep, scary roads high into the White Mountains of California’s Eastern Sierras. Finally reaching the part of Inyo National Forest known as the Ancient Bristlecone Forest was like arriving on a moonscape.
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