Sunset Trail: Thistle Warrior

On Christmas Day, I met my brother for a sunset hike on Sunset Trail, and the view, of course, was spectacular.  On our way back we saw a figure tidying up the trail, who turned out to be none other than John Brega, who I usually see on a small screen in monthly Friends of Joaquin Miller Park board meetings. Somehow we got on the topic of thistles. My brother excused himself at that point, perhaps triggered by memories of our childhood thistle trauma. But I used this opportunity to put mine to use.

"How do you get rid of them?" I asked John. "We used to have to walk around our property with a paper bag and clippers." We couldn't come back inside until the bag was full, no matter how cold it was, how bored we were, or how pricked and stabbed our little fingers were. It seemed an insurmountable task, protecting our garden and yard from their invasion. I remembered seeing them in the Park years ago, feeling crestfallen. But where were they now? The sunset-lit slope was clean and clear. 

"We got some help from goats," he said.

He explained how important it is to have goats at just the right stage, after the growing season. "Before they make buds," he said, "you can just yank and toss them. After they make buds, you can strip the buds before they bloom." I remembered how we'd put off our farm chores for days or weeks until after the buds had bloomed, and if we didn't cut the purple flowers, we'd hit the deadline, when they went to seed. I remembered the fluffs flying everywhere, so pretty, but so scary. 

"We killed 1.1 million thistles," John said. "We filled so many bags of buds along Sunset trail, we filled two and a half green bins full." 

"Wow," I said, trying to imagine it.

"That's with the bags stomped down," he said. Then he continued to blow my mind. "Imagine. Each blossom can produce dozens to hundreds of seeds, each plant hundreds or thousands. We prevented a billion thistles from invading the rest of the park, and neighboring yards."

"Great thistle warrior!" I gave him a playful, ceremonial, worshipping bow. Then I wondered aloud where all the thistles came from. He gave a sad scoff. 

"Good intentions," he said. "They put down straw to prevent soil erosion but the straw had thistle seeds in it. A few months later, 85% of the slope was covered in 5-8' tall thistles, growing closely, waving their purple flowers." It was a serious problem. The Venus thistle is native—but John has only ever seen two, and he left those alone. There are 5-6 different invasive species, such as Blue Star and Milk Thistle.

Then we stopped and admired the amazing, eternal view. And then our talk turned to sunsets. John sees them all. He wants to create a Sunset Trail Sunset Calendar. I'm all in!

Last month, our Sunset Trail guardian *only* spent about 20 hours in the Park, anticipating this year's challenges. This time of year he's thinking about pulling out Scotch Broom (it looks like this, lend a hand or come to a work party) to reduce fuel ladders. And he's seeing a lot of Italian Thistle popping up all over, not as densely as the past two years, but growing fast. Contact John at jtbrega at pacbell dot net if you want to help! 

When you're responsible for a piece of land, you never know what challenges nature will bring. My brothers and I were lucky, as kids, to have creeks to play in and trees to climb. We never expected to have to fight a war. But better thistles than fire, I suppose. 

Happy New Year.