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Opinion Column
For the week of June 28 through July 4, 2000

Violating nature near Corral Creek triggers a traumatic experience


My sense of outrage intensified as I came upon the campfire remains. The burn area was filled with broken bottles, flattened beer cans and pieces of other non-burnable trash.

Commentary By JOELLEN COLLINS


Yesterday, when I was taking my dogs up one of our favorite trails, instead of the usual sense of peace, I felt violated. It hit me in a visceral way, like a lover’s rejection, in the pit of my stomach.

I actually spoke out loud, as though anyone other than my oblivious doggies was listening. For the quiet and usually untraveled path off Corral Creek had been the sight of a party during the 24-hour period since I had last walked there. Whoever partied had left a horrible mess.

I thought we had raised a generation of more environmentally-conscious adults. I thought by now I was immune to the empty beer can refuse along the banks of some of our majestic lakes. Usually a plastic bag I keep in my pocket can handle the junk others have left behind. And I must admit to shaking my head often at the incalculable ignorance and laziness of people who somehow find taking out lighter-weight empties too tiring to manage.

I have a rather schoolmarmish, intolerant and undoubtedly unfair picture of those beer guzzlers. I certainly know it gives breweries a bad name. "This Bud’s for You" really means "This Bud’s for you and the next several people who come upon your empty."

Let me describe this scene to you lest you think I’m just getting hysterical over a couple of stray cans. The first knowledge I had that someone had been partying in this spot was the pair of men’s Jockey briefs lying by the path. Nearby were several piles of paper towels and tissues.

Then the telltale flattened cardboard 12-pack cartons thrown in the tiny creek, surrounded by several bottles and smashed cans. I was still several yards away from the campfire remains, but I was led there very surely by the many cigarette butts strewn along the trail like marks on a tree to help someone retrace his path. Only these weren’t Boy Scouts.

My sense of outrage intensified as I came upon the campfire remains. The burn area was filled with broken bottles, flattened beer cans and pieces of other non-burnable trash. A cursory examination of the surrounding area revealed still more cans, bottles, debris and refuse under nearby bushes and lining the creek. The sun was shining so brightly on one of the bottles that I envisioned it starting a fire.

I might add that this fire pit is not in such a remote area that one might think someone had hiked so far in that it was difficult to carry anything out (no excuse anyway, of course.) It is at the end of the last part of the path usually ridden by bicycles but wide enough for motorized vehicles. So these happy campers probably had a car or truck or several vehicles right there into which they could have tossed the junk.

This area is generally populated by tidy campers who leave their designated areas at least as clean as when they came. Thus I was especially dismayed to perceive that an unruly and slovenly group had discovered this site. I don’t think it’s on the usual easily accessible and known party circuit. Now I’m afraid it is.

When I reported the mess to the Forest Service office in Ketchum, I was unable to give them a clue as to the perpetrators (I’m even starting to sound like the law) and I doubt that they will be apprehended. I talked with the lone law enforcement officer who patrols the area. We had a positive conversation, which reminded me of the difficulties of managing our wilderness. He had been there the night before the incident, but not the night of the spree.

He is absolutely not able to be everywhere seven nights a week to monitor the behavior of campers and other area users. I sympathize with the enormity of his endeavors. The frustrations for the officer and me, indeed for anyone who loves our beautiful mountains, is that because of the very space we crave, things like this can occur unnoticed and unpunished.

#

Recently, in a column, I noted my displeasure with the plethora of "high-rise" and uncharacteristic buildings arising everywhere in Ketchum—echoes of Las Vegas or Beverly Hills instead of old Ketchum. At the time I expressed my belief that it behooves all of us to make our feelings known to authorities.

I am still naïve enough to expect that people are more enlightened than I sometimes find they are, so I cherish the hope that those careless partygoers may think more clearly the next time they decide to party in the sanctuary of our mountains. If we speak up (and I’m fortunate to have this forum), then perhaps one person might listen and remind friends he or she is with to take out what they bring in to the wild places we love.

Ah! Then what about recycling, dare I dream?

If I don’t speak out, then I am remiss, and all my mutterings under my breath will be futile. I hope this serves as a reminder to anyone who has been thoughtless.

Perhaps I am whistling in the wind. But it’s still better than whistling into an empty bottle left along a trail.

 

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