"Wilderness perspectives, old and new" is the latest in our Wilderness Experienced series of shared stories and musings. We want to hear your story! Learn more and submit a story. |
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“Let it burn,” I said, referring to wildfire in the Wilderness. I almost reacted to Bob’s (unsure of his real name) retort. “NO!” he snapped and walked on up the trail.
My wife, Ellie, and I were on our fifth day in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness when we had run into “Bob” and his wife on the trail, our first people to see in five days. Bob, who announced right away that he was 65 years old, stopped immediately without any introductions, and shared part of his life story of growing up in Leavenworth, Washington.
He shared how many people had made a living up Jack Creek before it was made a Wilderness area in 1976. During the winter, he and several other off-season loggers would trap pine martens until they were declared endangered in 1984 (they have since rebounded in population).
He longed to go back to those days when trappers had their secret cabins tucked away in the woods many miles up Jack Creek at the foot of Mount Stuart, the highest non-volcanic peak in Washington State at 9,415 feet. He complained to us about downed trees across the trail as he said there was once an arrangement between an outfitter who had an illegal semi-permanent tent camp up a side canyon in exchange for keeping the trail free of downed trees.
I asked Bob how long ago the Jack Creek Fire occurred, and he said it was about seven years ago. He added with disdainful accusation that the district ranger let it burn in Wilderness too long until the fire jumped into the Eight Mile drainage and threatened the town of Leavenworth.
That’s when I reacted by saying, “Let it burn!” The mostly one-way conversation ended abruptly, an opportunity lost to hearing more history and being a listening presence to his obvious suffering. I didn’t realize that until contemplating the interaction that evening in our last camp of the trip.
Ellie, age 81, and I, age 74, are avid backpackers. We had a beautiful solitary six days in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness going up the deep old-growth forests, quiet and somber with trails lined with thousands of mushrooms. There were red, brown, white, and yellow mushrooms. Some were spotted and beautiful, some were blotchy, bumpy mushrooms. Many were knocked over and chewed on by some hungry critter. Some mushrooms were as tiny as a fingernail and others as giant as a frisbee.
It was a fairy land amongst towering Douglas fir and red cedars that stood as sentries along the moss lined path and gateways to stream crossings into clear, rushing water. We spent two nights of solitude at an alpine lake at around 6200 feet elevation. The cold, crisp days were enhanced by the yellow larch trees and the spectacular views of Mount Stuart.
We noticed while looking up at the sky after napping in the warm sun, that we were on a flight path for migratory bald eagles, hawks, geese, and ducks. Several Barrow’s Goldeneye ducks stopped over at the lake to tank up on invertebrates.
In the evening, the clouds would encircle the ridgelines and glow red, orange, and blue-grey in the setting sun. One night I got up to relieve myself at about 2 AM and noticed the Northern Lights flashing reddish-white across a clear, starry sky. Ah, how I love Wilderness. The bull elk bugled their approval.
Bob grew up in these wild places. He saw many people who made a living off the exploits of the forest, minerals, and streams. He lives those memories in his heart—memories that were his alone.
My memories are of solitude and awe of the spacious beauty, rewards for the strenuous trekking up steep trails, crossing cold streams, weathering storms, and smiling often. Bob had those memories, too. Wilderness designation includes different experiences for different local cultures. I hope we can remember that Wilderness includes grief for gone by days for friends like Bob. I hope to listen more deeply when the opportunity presents itself again. The history runs deep in these glaciated valleys. |
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