The Dogu Invasion: Artist Warren Sherich Jr. Defends Leaving Sculptures on the Pacific Crest Trail Amidst Ethical Debate

Updated September 18, 2026 12:44PM

The serene beauty of the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT), a celebrated ribbon of wilderness stretching over 2,650 miles from Mexico to Canada, has become an unlikely canvas for an artistic debate, pitting the philosophy of "Leave No Trace" against the desire to inject art into natural landscapes. At the heart of this controversy is Warren Sherich Jr., a 74-year-old retired math teacher and professional artist from Southern California, who has been strategically placing his fired clay sculptures, known as "dogus," along the PCT and countless other locations worldwide. Sherich’s project, ambitiously titled "The Dogu Invasion," has ignited a passionate discourse among hikers and environmental advocates alike, raising fundamental questions about the boundaries of art, nature, and human impact.

Sherich’s home is conveniently located just a few miles from a section of the PCT he frequents with his wife. It is during these regular hikes that he brings his unique creations, "one or two of his dogu sculptures to leave on the trail." As Sherich candidly shares with Backpacker, "I always bring a few with me. I put them everywhere I go." This seemingly simple act has, over time, become a significant point of contention, dividing opinions on the trail and sparking widespread online debate.

The dogus themselves are humanoid clay figurines, inspired by ancient Japanese Jomon period pottery dating back to approximately 14,000 BCE. However, Sherich has imbued his creations with a distinct, contemporary narrative. His dogus, he explains, hail from the fictional planet "Doguanda" and are on a mission to "colonize Earth." This conceptual framework fuels his artistic practice, leading him to place these figures in diverse environments – from grocery store aisles and urban sidewalks to family visits across state lines and international vacations. His stated intention is to "punk future archaeologists" who might one day unearth these artifacts, creating a millennia-spanning artistic dialogue that extends far beyond his own lifespan.

While some PCT hikers express delight in discovering these quirky, enigmatic figures, even collecting them as unique trail souvenirs, a significant portion views their presence as a disruption to the pristine wilderness experience. This sentiment was amplified in 2024 when Backpacker first published an article detailing Sherich’s "dogus" on the PCT. The piece inadvertently unleashed a torrent of criticism, transforming the artist into an anonymous target of online vitriol. During that initial period, Sherich remained largely out of the public eye, witnessing his art being branded as "trash" and himself being condemned for "littering along his favorite trail."

"They were slandering me instead of entering a dialogue about what is acceptable and what is not," Sherich laments, referring to the anonymous social media commenters. "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, aiming to bridge the gap between artistic intent and public perception.

The Dogu Invasion: A Primer on Sherich’s Artistic Philosophy

With a career spanning 44 years, Warren Sherich Jr. has a diverse artistic portfolio. While his large-scale rock sculptures are among his most recognized works, he has also delved into creating elaborate ceramic tile dance floors, which he then intentionally buries at his studio. This practice underscores a profound dedication to his art, as he admits, "It is quite a commitment to create stuff and bury it, just upon the hope that it might be found someday." The intellectual amusement he derives from the idea of future archaeologists puzzling over his hidden creations is a driving force, a long-term joke he anticipates will resonate long after his passing.

His "Dogu Invasion" project shares this conceptual DNA. Sherich envisions it as a singular, international sculpture composed of thousands of distributed components. Crucially, his dogus are crafted from unglazed, fired clay. This material choice is deliberate; they are essentially robust forms of sandstone, designed to weather and erode naturally over extended periods, mirroring the geological processes of the natural environment. "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." His ambition extends far beyond the PCT, with dogus placed 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."

In direct encounters, Sherich reports overwhelmingly positive responses to his sculptures. He recounts instances of thru-hikers on the PCT recognizing his work and approaching him for photographs, a "pretty common occurrence." However, the digital realm paints a starkly different picture. The previous Backpacker report highlighted the stark contrast, with Facebook users expressing strong disapproval. Comments such as "It’s an eyesore, and this person needs to knock it off" and "Garbage on the trail" illustrate the depth of this negative sentiment.

Sherich, however, offers a counter-argument, suggesting that his art is no more intrusive or environmentally detrimental than natural phenomena like a bird’s nest or a beaver’s dam. "Human art is part of nature naturing," he posits. "I am an animal that lives in a society of animals. I am part of nature."

The Leave No Trace Position: Navigating the Nuances

Erin Collier, the director of education at Leave No Trace, clarifies that the organization does not maintain a rigid policy specifically addressing art installations in natural settings. Instead, Leave No Trace offers practical guidance on activities like rock stacking and creating painted rocks, both of which have become popular forms of trail art. These recommendations are rooted in environmental concerns. The act of moving rocks for stacking can exacerbate soil erosion, and painted rocks pose a risk of leaching toxic chemicals or microplastics into the environment.

Sherich asserts that his dogus circumvent these environmental concerns. He emphasizes that pure, unglazed fired clay possesses a neutral pH, is chemically inert, and does not biodegrade or photodegrade. Instead, it weathers over time, akin to natural stone. " [My dogus] have zero impact on the ecology of the trail. Zero," Sherich states emphatically. "It’s literally like I took a mass of sand and dropped it beside the trail."

Despite the minimal material impact, Collier acknowledges that Sherich’s sculptures undeniably alter the aesthetic of the trail. This alteration, she explains, not only affects the individual experience of other users but could also set a precedent for more significant negative consequences. "There could be a potential to inspire others to leave things behind," she warns, referring to the "runaway litter effect" that Leave No Trace frequently observes, manifesting in various forms such as aspen graffiti, 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, however, remains unconvinced that his art is a catalyst for such a widespread issue. In his 15 years of placing dogus, he estimates having encountered fewer than 50 imitations, a minuscule number compared to the thousands he has dispersed globally. "Everyone who is making art to put out is probably already doing so," he reasons, noting that the trails are not being overwhelmed by micro-art. "I do not see it as a realistic problem."

Art In Nature: A Spectrum of Responsibility

While some hikers and environmentalists advocate for strict adherence to Leave No Trace principles, Collier points out that the organization’s philosophy 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."

She draws a parallel with foraging, an activity that humans have engaged in for millennia. Foraging, when practiced with a Leave No Trace mindset, can minimize impact while still allowing for the harvesting of sustenance from the land. By this logic, if one considers Sherich’s act of placing art in nature, his dogus could be seen as having an impact comparable to building a sandcastle – a temporary, environmentally benign artistic endeavor.

The controversy surrounding Sherich’s dogus is not an isolated incident; it reflects a broader societal tension surrounding the integration of human art into natural environments. The public memory of the chrome monolith that mysteriously appeared in the Utah desert in 2019, drawing crowds before its discreet removal, and the saga of the large wooden troll sculpture in Breckenridge, Colorado, which enchanted visitors but angered locals before its dismantling and eventual relocation, serve as potent examples. The mixing of human artistic expression with the natural world has a long and often contentious history.

Ultimately, the debate leaves us in a familiar, unresolved space. Warren Sherich Jr. shows no indication of ceasing his "Dogu Invasion," continuing to place his sculptures along the PCT and across the globe. Consequently, many hikers will persist in their criticism, while others will undoubtedly find joy and intrigue in encountering these unexpected trailside exhibits.

Regarding the fate of his dogus, Sherich maintains a hands-off approach. He encourages people to interact with them as they see fit, be it taking them home to adorn a garden or leaving them to their natural course. "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, intended to provoke thought and endure for millennia, continues its unpredictable journey, sparking dialogue and challenging perceptions of what it means to engage with nature.