Old school trail marker, a can lid nailed to a tree with a quartz crystal stuck in the top, along this route headed over a pass into the adjoining Carson Valley, dating to pioneer times, maybe much older. The scarring above the can lid may be a healed blaze, and there are old nails in the trunk, near new nails that are likely glow in the dark markers for ultra runners. I sail past without a sign, not even touching the ground.
Whitebark Pine sinking it’s fingers into the ground, which is mostly just decomposed granite, with some pine needles sprinkled on top, effectively hydroponic.