February 4 , 2012
* OUTDOORS CONFLICTS *
Here's a tip for a beginning crosscountry skier: find a snowcat track. That's advice especially applicable to early season, before the snowpack sets, or just after a dump of fresh powder. A snowcat packs the fluff and allows you a firm base to glide upon.
The alternative is either breaking trail yourself--sometimes grueling labor--or following twin ruts already placed by the skier before you. And that, too, can be frustrating, especially if your skis are not the same width or narrower.
Skiing up, then gliding back down a snowmobile track can be an exhilarating exercise, especially if you've done your homework enough to know the 'cat is heading for the kind of hillside playground in which a skier can also cavort with little danger. There is, however, a trade-off: sharing the snowbound roadway and playground. And that, some skiers and snowcatters appear unwilling to do.
Personally I don't mind, although I have ski friends who believe snowmobiles (and by extrapolation, I suppose, their riders) to be objectionable, and I've crossed tracks with the occasional snowcatter who, if body language is to be be relied upon, finds me tolerably offensive for being in the same country.
My problem with people who have a problem with other folks being on the same mountain stems from a belief their aversion to each other is based on philosopical differences, rather than mode of transport. But I believe the key word here is avarice . . . greed. It's human nature. Some skier friends think the 'catter rides up in creature comfort to the kinds of places the more pure skier pays a physical price to go. But I piloted a snowcat one time, many years ago. And I'd challenge anyone who's never done it to try it first before assuming the sport is easy.
Likewise the snowmobiler who feels God granted him an exclusive franchise to be on that mountain on that day is guilty of greed instead of grace.
The dry fly purist who objects to a raft filled with whitewater enthusiasts drifting along his river reach displays a degree of selfishness. However, increase the frequency of rafts shooting through his fishing hole and those compounded rafters have effectively barred the fly angler from exercising his preferred activity. And that, likewise, is selfishness on the part of the rafters.
There are other examples: Jet boats cutting up around a swimming beach; water skiers on a small lake surrounded by summer homes; hikers versus horseback riders.
Though the tension between self-propelled versus mechanized travelers has the same basis as that between fisherman and whitewater rafter, it's scale of conflict must be painted on a grander canvas though--one of allocation of public lands. For the most part, self-propelled recreationists support the concept of designating certain public lands as wilderness, where mechanical means of conveyance is unacceptable. The motorized recreationist, on the other hand, wants to practice his sport on a land base as broad as possible. Thus the two philosophies are inevitably on a collision course. But why the two sides cannot disagree without being disagreeable is beyond me.
I do believe in setting aside remaining wild lands for futurity. But I'm also willing to share a mountain, river, lake, or desert with recreationists not of my stripe--as long as their activity does not effectively exclude my activity. Today's quieter snowmobiles and mostly courteous riders seem to fit that criterion.
The problem of differing recreationists at each others throats is not enough land, water, and resources to go around. And I have neither time nor courage to tackle its solution.
Next week? Another walk on the wild side.
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