The Dogu Invasion of the Pacific Crest Trail: An Artist’s Intentions Meet Environmental Ethics

Published September 18, 2026 06:05AM

This story was developed through in-depth interviews with Warren Sherich Jr., the artist responsible for the controversial dogu sculptures appearing on the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT), and Erin Collier, the Director of Education at Leave No Trace, who provided crucial insights into the ethical considerations of introducing art into natural environments.

The rugged beauty of the Pacific Crest Trail, a legendary hiking route stretching over 2,650 miles from Mexico to Canada, has recently become the canvas for a peculiar and polarizing art project. Just a few miles from his southern California home, where he often hikes with his wife, Warren Sherich Jr., a 74-year-old retired math teacher and practicing artist, has been intentionally leaving his fired clay dogu sculptures. These enigmatic figures, inspired by ancient Japanese pottery, are part of Sherich’s ambitious, decades-long endeavor titled "The Dogu Invasion." His narrative envisions these humanoid figurines as emissaries from the fictional planet Doguanda, tasked with colonizing Earth. Sherich’s artistic philosophy extends beyond the PCT; he "plants" his dogus wherever he goes – from grocery stores and local parks to family visits in other states and international vacations. His stated goal is to "punk future archaeologists," creating an elaborate, long-term artistic dialogue that transcends his own lifespan.

"I always bring a few with me," Sherich confides in Backpacker. "I put them everywhere I go."

Sherich, a seasoned artist with 44 years of creative output, is renowned for his large-scale rock sculptures. However, his artistic repertoire also includes more ephemeral works, such as elaborate ceramic tile dance floors that he meticulously buries beneath the soil at his studio. "It is quite a commitment to create stuff and bury it, just upon the hope that it might be found someday," he muses, a hint of amusement in his voice. This fascination with the potential discovery of his art by future civilizations, sparking wonder and confusion, is a recurring theme in his creative process.

The "Dogu Invasion" embodies this same playful yet profound concept. Sherich views this project as a singular, international sculpture composed of thousands of individual components dispersed globally. The dogus themselves are intentionally unglazed and fired, rendering them essentially durable, sandstone-like objects. While they will erode over millennia, much like natural rock formations, their longevity is a key element of his artistic vision. "Fired clay will literally last for thousands of years," Sherich explains. "So each of these sculptures that I’ve put out has a journey that it goes on. I have put out dogus in every state, every province, almost every country in South America and Central America, all through Western Europe… I’m giving myself an art dialogue way past my life."

The presence of Sherich’s dogus on the PCT has ignited a passionate debate among hikers and environmentalists. While some find delight in discovering these unexpected artistic encounters along the trail, even collecting them as unique mementos, a significant portion of the hiking community views them as an unwelcome intrusion into their pristine natural experience.

In 2024, Backpacker first brought attention to Sherich’s dogus in an article that sparked a fervent discussion about the boundaries of art in nature and the core tenets of Leave No Trace principles. At the time, the artist remained anonymous, leading to a torrent of online criticism. Social media users lambasted the dogus as "trash" and condemned the unknown artist for littering on one of America’s most cherished wilderness trails.

"They were slandering me instead of entering a dialogue about what is acceptable and what is not," Sherich reflects on the online backlash. "I understand their argument. These people are not without logic. But they want to just condemn me out of hand without having a discussion." It was this desire for a more nuanced conversation that prompted Backpacker to track down Sherich two years later, seeking to facilitate the very dialogue that had been missing.

In person, Sherich reports overwhelmingly positive interactions regarding his sculptures. He recounts numerous instances where thru-hikers on the PCT have recognized him as the artist leaving the dogus, approaching him for photographs and engaging in friendly conversation. "That’s a pretty common occurrence," he says. This direct, personal feedback stands in stark contrast to the anonymous vitriol he faced online.

The online discourse, however, paints a different picture. As Backpacker previously reported, many Facebook users expressed strong disapproval of the unknown artist and his unsolicited contributions to the trail landscape. Comments ranged from "It’s an eyesore, and this person needs to knock it off" to the blunt assertion, "Garbage on the trail."

Sherich acknowledges the validity of these opinions but contends that his art does not inherently detract from the natural environment. He draws a parallel between his sculptures and natural phenomena like a bird’s nest or a beaver’s dam, arguing that human creation is an intrinsic part of the natural world. "Human art is part of nature naturing," he asserts. "I am an animal that lives in a society of animals. I am part of nature."

Erin Collier, the Director of Education at Leave No Trace, explains that the organization does not maintain a rigid, black-and-white policy specifically addressing art in nature. However, Leave No Trace does provide guidance on activities that commonly involve artistic expression in natural settings, such as rock stacking and painting rocks – both popular forms of trail art. These recommendations stem from the potential negative environmental impacts associated with such activities. For instance, rearranging rocks can disrupt fragile ecosystems and contribute to soil erosion, while painted rocks can leach toxic chemicals or microplastics into the environment over time.

Sherich argues that his dogus pose no such ecological threat. Composed of unglazed, fired clay, they possess a neutral pH, are chemically inert, and do not biodegrade or photodegrade. Instead, they weather naturally, akin to other geological elements. "Fired clay will literally last for thousands of years," he reiterates, emphasizing the enduring nature of his work. "So each of these sculptures that I’ve put out has a journey that it goes on." He further states, "[My dogus] have zero impact on the ecology of the trail. Zero. It’s literally like I took a mass of sand and dropped it beside the trail."

Despite Sherich’s assertions of ecological neutrality, his sculptures undeniably alter the aesthetic of the trail. Collier points out that this aesthetic impact can influence the experience of other users and potentially lead to more significant negative consequences. "There could be a potential to inspire others to leave things behind," she explains, referencing the "runaway litter effect" that Leave No Trace frequently observes, manifesting in various forms such as graffiti on trees, unauthorized rock cairns, and general litter. "If every person who hikes the PCT now says, ‘Well, I want to leave my art behind,’ suddenly that becomes a really significant impact."

Sherich remains unconvinced that his art is contributing to this phenomenon. In the 15 years he has been placing dogus worldwide, he estimates he has encountered fewer than 50 imitations, a minuscule number compared to the thousands he has dispersed. "Everyone who is making art to put out is probably already doing so," he reasons, suggesting that the trails are not being inundated with micro-art like his. "I do not see it as a realistic problem."

While some hikers and environmental advocates adhere to a strict interpretation of Leave No Trace ethics, Collier clarifies that the philosophy itself operates on a spectrum. "If we’re truly ‘leaving no trace,’ we wouldn’t be out there. There’d be no trails, no roadways, no campgrounds," she observes. "We’re really just trying to leave as little trace as possible, and that can change depending on the activity that we’re doing."

Collier uses foraging as an example, illustrating how it can be practiced with a Leave No Trace mindset. Humans have harvested food from the land for millennia, and with careful consideration, this practice can minimize its impact. By this logic, one could argue that Sherich’s dogus, if truly as inert as he claims, represent a form of artistic expression in nature that is as minimally impactful as building a sandcastle on a beach.

The controversy surrounding Sherich’s dogus is not an isolated incident. It echoes broader debates about the intersection of human art and natural landscapes, reminiscent of the enigmatic chrome monolith that appeared in the Utah desert in 2019, drawing significant attention before its quiet removal. Similarly, a large wooden troll sculpture erected in the Colorado woods in 2018 captivated visitors but angered locals, leading to its eventual dismantling, though it was later rebuilt in a less sensitive location. The history of introducing human art into natural settings is rife with contention.

This ongoing debate leaves many in a familiar quandary. Sherich remains steadfast in his intention to continue leaving dogus on the PCT and across the globe, driven by his artistic vision. Many hikers will likely persist in their criticism, while others will undoubtedly continue to find joy and intrigue in discovering his roadside installations.

Regarding the fate of his dogus, Sherich offers a philosophy of artistic freedom. "Take them home and add them to your garden," he suggests. "And if somebody doesn’t like them and throws them into the bushes, that’s just a part of the dogu’s journey into the future." His art, he implies, is intended to embark on its own unfolding narrative, destined to interact with the world and its inhabitants for millennia to come.