Pando started with a single seed and now accommodates over 40,000 “stems.”
Lance Oditt
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Lance Oditt
![](https://media.npr.org/assets/img/2023/05/09/pando-boundary-sign-on-highway-25-7b0b3b357d7a1944bfab31a982f7bc0c24dcd5fc-s1200.jpg)
Pando started with a single seed and now accommodates over 40,000 “stems.”
Lance Oditt
If you journey to Fishlake National Forest in Utah, you may be surrounded by a high-elevation behemoth.
It’s one of the largest life kinds on the planet: a quaking aspen so colossal it has a reputation — Pando, which is Latin for “I spread.”
You may mistake Pando for a swath of forest of 1000’s of particular person trees. But in actuality, it is all one tree linked by a single root system.
In a way, Pando “redefines trees,” says Lance Oditt, who directs the nonprofit Friends of Pando.
What began as one seed now spans 80 soccer fields and weighs some 6,000 tons. “They look like tree trunks to us, but stems is the proper scientific term,” he says. “They go 80 feet into the sky.”
Oditt is all the time trying to find higher methods to get his head round a tree this monumental. And he began questioning: “What would happen if we asked a sound conservationist to record the tree? What could a geologist, for example, learn from that, or a wildlife biologist?”
So a couple of yr in the past, Oditt invited sound artist Jeff Rice to go to Pando and document the tree.
“I just dove in and started recording everything I could in any way that I could,” says Rice, who made his pilgrimage to the mighty aspen final July.
Rice says that sound recordings aren’t simply works of artwork.
“They also are a record of the place in time, the species and the health of the environment,” he says. “You can use these recordings as a baseline as the environment changes.”
![](https://media.npr.org/assets/img/2023/05/09/piezomics_tapedtoleaves_img_0940-fedd0334170f1b9e46aab944d0a99aa4d1ccf0d8-s1100-c50.jpeg)
Microphones hooked up to Pando.
Jeff Rice
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Jeff Rice
![](https://media.npr.org/assets/img/2023/05/09/piezomics_tapedtoleaves_img_0940-fedd0334170f1b9e46aab944d0a99aa4d1ccf0d8-s1200.jpeg)
Microphones hooked up to Pando.
Jeff Rice
In mid-summer, the aspen’s leaves are just about at their largest. “And there’s just a really nice shimmering quality to Pando when you walk through it,” says Rice. “It’s like a presence when the wind blows.”
That’s what Rice needed to seize first — the sound of these shiny lime inexperienced leaves fluttering in the wind.
He hooked up little contact microphones to particular person leaves and was handled to this sound in return:
The leaves had “this percussive quality,” he says. “And I knew that all of these vibrating leaves would create a significant amount of vibration within the tree.”
Rice then set out to seize that tree-wide vibration in the midst of a thunderstorm. “I was hunkered down and huddling, trying to stay out of the lightning. When those storms come through Pando, they’re pretty big. They’re pretty dramatic.”
All that wind blowing by means of the innumerable leaves supplied Rice a sonic alternative to document the tree.
“We found this incredible opening in one of the [stems] that I’ve dubbed the Pando portal,” he says.
Into that portal, he lowered a mic till it was touching the huge tangle of roots under.
This was the consequence:
“As soon as the wind would blow and the leaves would start to vibrate,” Rice says, “you would hear this amazing low rumble.”
The vibrations, he says, have been passing by means of Pando’s branches and trunks into the floor.
“It’s almost like the whole Earth is vibrating,” says Rice. “It just emphasizes the power of all of these trembling leaves, the connectedness, I think, of this as a single organism.”
He additionally captured the bark:
And, lastly, the panorama:
Rice and Oditt are presenting these recordings at this week’s Acoustical Society of America meeting in Chicago.
“This is the song of this ecosystem, this tree,” says Oditt. “So now we know sound is another way we can understand the tree.”
In truth, the recordings have given Oditt analysis concepts, like utilizing sound to map Pando’s labyrinth of roots. But above all, they seem to be a sonic snapshot of this leviathan at this second in time.
“We have to keep in mind,” says Oditt, “that it’s been changing shape and form for like 9000 years. I call it the David Bowie problem. It’s constantly reinventing itself!”
And now, we have managed to flip up the quantity to hear Pando as the baritone soloist it is all the time been.
![](https://media.npr.org/assets/img/2023/05/09/lowerpando_dsc_3651-946191a0acdbe071dcc3bf6e6bbab89420723950-s1100-c50.jpg)
Pando is definitely a clone, which implies all the particular person “stems” seen listed below are genetically similar.
Jeff Rice
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Jeff Rice
![](https://media.npr.org/assets/img/2023/05/09/lowerpando_dsc_3651-946191a0acdbe071dcc3bf6e6bbab89420723950-s1200.jpg)
Pando is definitely a clone, which implies all the particular person “stems” seen listed below are genetically similar.
Jeff Rice