Adirondacks or Bust

I don’t have an ADK story to tell, nor have I ever been. So here I’d like to offer the perspective most opposite the wilderness lifestyle. One of the arguments that McKibben likes to make is the case for the wilderness of the Adirondacks over the safe, cookie-cutter lifestyle of New England towns. McKibben is almost disdainful of the towns with their white churches, self-governance, their cobblestone roads, and uniform-colored wood.

But McKibben has no base to denounce this lifestyle when all he knows and all he breathes is the wilderness. The way I see it, living in a stereotypical New England town is safe and happily void of surprises. Folks know to expect the same everyday. They can wake up and be assured that they’ll make it to work on time and make it home for dinner.

The wilderness, on the other hand, is quintessentially wild and unpredictable. McKibben says the Adirondacks are higher, colder, wilder – a challenge just to make it through to the end of the day. Yet the Adirondacks are full of surprises, both good and bad. McKibben’s opening anecdote is a great example, how he spent 10 hours walking in circles, trudging through the same thickets to look for his starting spot. But he knew that if he put his faith in the mountains, they would reward him. The day turned from one of his worst to the best of his life after he decided to go out for 20 more minutes. 

It’s not fair for McKibben to say the Adirondacks are better. They’re just not for everyone, and thankfully so.

The Sound of Silence

Bill McKibben vividly describes many beautiful aspects of the Adirondack park over the course of his trek back home. One moment in particular that really struck a chord with me was when he comments on the "noisy kind of silence" (65) he experiences. His grand description of this "pulsating hum" (65) sent me back to a moment of unspeakable beauty I experienced while leading an Adirondack Adventure trip in the Dix range last summer.  The group was above tree line taking an afternoon nap on a smooth and perfectly slanted rock face and I was building a small cairn. For some wonderful reason no black flies buzzed about my head and the trails had been nearly deserted all day. The only sound I could hear was the wind rushing through the trees as it whipped through the range. But, contrary to McKibben's assertion that this very biological and geological sound "never subside[s]" (65), the gusting wind stopped for what must have been fifteen seconds. The rustling of the leaves faded and eventually disappeared, leaving me in the most silent moment I have ever experienced. But even in this very isolated and natural setting this silence ended. This rare moment continues to represent one of my favorite aspects of being the "wilderness". It provides an escape from the constant bombardment and overstimulation that I, like so many others, experience on a day to day basis. I personally value the uninterrupted reflection silence can allow and I, like McKibben, believe that the interruption of this sensory immersion by ATVs and Jet Skis destroys such an integral part of the setting. McKibben connects this type of interruption back to the underlying hyper individualism in our culture and I too believe that it reflects a certain lack of awareness and consideration of how your actions affect others around you.  Most of my experiences in the Adirondacks have been relatively isolated hiking trips. I would be curious to discuss others' experiences with noise pollution of any kind on lakes or trails. I am also curious if anyone else can think of the most silent moment they have experienced.

Protect, but Adapt.

Throughout the book Wandering Home, McKibben presents us with many different ways that his friends and colleagues, specifically those he shares some of his walk with, are attempting to conserve the wilderness; whatever that may mean to them. He tells us about small scale, local farmers, as well as a friend of his, John Davis, who works at an organization called the Foundation for Deep Ecology, which essentially promotes "wildlands philanthropy,"(100)* in which wealthy people buy up big areas of land in order to preserve them. He also relates information about Howard Zahniser, a man who drafts the federal wilderness statute, which protects millions of acres but keeping them free from all human intrusion aside from "wandering around on your own two feet." (118) Many agree with this opinion that the Adirondack park, and other similar territories, should be kept, "forever wild," and though I don't disagree, I don't think it is entirely practical. Keeping humans out of some areas of wilderness is possible, but putting a large focus on this goal will not solve all of our worldly problems. Instead, we need to be more like John Davis and his colleague Tom Butler as we attempt to protect the environment, "and yet adapt a little to the world around [us]." (84-85) Inevitably, humans will inhabit the wilderness in some capacity, so finding away to coexist with the environment, instead of alienating ourselves from it, is the only way to sustain both our existence and the environment's. As of now, as William Cronon, an environmental historian says, we have no large-scale example of successful coexistence between humans and the environment and "little hope of discovering what an ethical, sustainable, honorably human place in nature might actually look like." (97) Now that many laws regarding the protection of the 'wilderness' have been put it place, focus should be shifted to the inhabited wilderness, and attempt to teach humans how to live sustainably and harmoniously with their environment.

*I'm reading an e-book version of Wandering Home, so the page numbers probably won't match up with the print copy.

90 Miles of History

The back of my newest T-shirt reads, “This 90 mile journey, from Old Forge to Saranac Lake, follows the same route traveled by the region’s settlers and guides.  The chain of lakes, rivers and portages is known as the original “Highway of the Adirondacks”.  Such are the adventures of the 32^nd 90 mile marathon canoe race representative of a culture clinging to its past.  The race takes place every year in late summer and is anticipated by hundreds of participants and enthusiastic spectators.  This year 256 boats, seven of which represented Hamilton, competed for three grueling days through lakes and winding rivers, as well as on foot with their boats hoisted on their shoulders.  This race can only be completed by sheer strength of body and spirit (and the help of a few snickers bars), and Hamilton powered through with aching muscles and huge grins.   

Schneider talks of the many waterways, lakes, ponds, swamps, bogs, rivers, streams, and brooks that make up the Adirondack Park, and the various native tribes that first used these waterways in this same fashion.  He even mentions the canoe carry to Saranac Lake, “worn deep from centuries of foot traffic” (18).  This path may be the exact one that was used this past weekend by the canoe racers.  So what does this say about the current state of the Adirondack Park?  Does this mean that we are still in touch with its true history?  Is a competition such as this working to preserve the park or is it exploiting it?  I would like to believe that this is an example of the parks “redemption” in the way that McKibben discusses it on page 120.  Perhaps the fact that the same paths used hundreds of years ago by the Indians to carry their “red elm bark” canoes are still being used today for the same purpose, is a sign that the park is being restored to its past glory.   

Cohabitation: Just a pipe dream?

        By dint of its very existence, the Adirondack Park forces us to think about what man's cohabitation with nature should look like. As he wanders through its landscape, McKibben offers his own insight into the matter, as well as the thoughts of those he travels with along the way. As we discussed in class, humans have set themselves apart from the natural world (of which they are intrinsically a part) in order to take stewardship of it. This relationship has proved more successful in the Adirondack Park than in most other parts of the world. Of course, as both Bill McKibben and Paul Schneider acknowledge, the relationship has its rough patches, even in the 'dacks. Schneider writes "The story of this century has been the struggle to transform that initial romantic infatuation with the wilds of the Adirondacks into a sustainable marriage-to find an acceptable definition of wilderness that can survive our culture's seemingly insatiable desires" (xii).
         I finished Wandering Home with a cautious sense of optimism on the subject of coexistence, which McKibben shares. While I realize that the author's dream of a society unburdened by hyperindividualism, "where neighbors provide more for each other...bottling wine and making music" is a bit of a pipe dream (he realizes it too, I think), I certainly felt more hopeful after meeting each of the characters that McKibben travels with along the way. The once 'kingpin of hemp' Netaka White proved my favorite tall, skinny walking companion (52). Of course, not all of the Adirondack Park's 130,000 year-round residents are tall, skinny hippies with a penchant for environmentalism, as McKibben's experience might lead us to believe. Most of the park's residents are concerned primarily with their own livelihood, with good reason; the Adirondacks are not an easy place to make a living.
         And yet, the vast majority of those who choose to live in the Adirondacks year-round can be considered "wilderness people," as Jeanne Robert Foster would put it-people who feel the permanent draw of the mountains and the rivers. They would have to be, for the Adirondacks are not a place for those who need a constant Wi-Fi signal. These people are "solidly wedded" to the Adirondacks, as Schneider would put it. As nature's stewards, they are better examples than most. And this gives me hope that in other areas of the world, where the government has not drawn lines separating "wilderness" and "civilization," this New York park can serve as an example of the successful cohabitation of man and nature.

The human search for beauty in nature and the Adirondacks

I have always had a great fondness for outdoor activity, especially for visiting "wild" places. This inevitably drew me time and time again to the Adirondack Park, 6 million acres of "forever wild" land. To me, the Adirondack wilderness is a place where one must be self-reliant and often quick-thinking, with the rewards of unequaled beauty and often solitude. However, in enjoying the land I acknowledge that I myself cause harmful consequences to the land.

First off, driving to and from the mountains pollutes the air and uses up lots of gasoline. Hikers wear down trails, creating ugly mud pits and swaths of trampled vegetation. Climbers leave scars on trees, as well as chalk marks and bolts on the crags. Last fall, I bushwhacked Lost Pond Peak, a beautiful and seldom-visited mountain tucked between more-popular high peaks. Dense spruce thickets give way to a stunningly beautiful mountaintop pond and spectacular views of the peaks. However, even on this remote mountaintop, a small, beaten-down are exists due to the footprints of hikers.

This leads to a question I have been pondering for some time. Should we as humans cease searching for beauty due to the negative consequences it inevitably causes? On the other hand, is it worth preserving wilderness areas if no one is there to enjoy them? The Adirondacks are the perfect arena to carry out this debate, with its incredible recreational resources and the high use it gets. I look forward to discussing these issues in class.

PFD's and Squeezy Applesauce

I could not have asked for a better setting to read about the history of the Adirondacks this weekend than the park itself. Fortunately enough, I was part of the pit crew for Hamilton's very own Marathon Canoe Team that participated in the annual 90-mile race through the park. When I wasn't busy running alongside the boat shoving Snicker's bars into my teammates' mouths, I was able to visualize the Iroquois and Roger's Rangers dressed for war paddling along the lakes ( at least until someone pulled out sunscreen or a Clif bar, which ruined this image pretty quickly). However, as much as this was clearly a 21st century version of canoe travel, part of me was reassured at how many people around me clearly loved this place and all that it had to offer. Everyone had a common goal, and even those who were fairly competitive recognized that anyone who was capable of finishing was truly a winner.

Within the first hour of arriving at the start line, two separate racers approached me looking for someone to drive their cars to the next site. They needed someone who could drive a standard, which suited me since I much prefer it to driving an automatic. They offered to pay me, which they both did in advance and handed me their keys with a smile and thanked me profusely for my help. I couldn't believe that these people had actually just handed cash and the keys to their vehicles to a perfect stranger, but this proved to be exemplary of the spirit and character of the 90-milers, not to mention their trust in whoever else might happen to be there. In any case, I couldn't help to feel hopeful. If these individuals come halfway across the country to put their boats in these particular lakes, we must be able to preserve it, right?

The only trouble is, my optimistic view dwindled when I began to think about our discussion that touched briefly upon selective sampling. Just as Bill McKibben might like to envision our generation as one represented accurately by the Middlebury students interested in farming, it was easy for my faith to be restored in the human concern for the preservation of the park when surrounded by a sea of environmentally conscious, mountain-loving, trusting people who had elected to spend their weekend in this beautiful place. But that's just it, these were the 270-something people who had done just that, chosen to be there. Meanwhile, the rest of the world continued outside of our Adirondack bubble as per usual, where people don't give young adults their cars and don't canoe for 8 hours a day because that's their idea of fun. In any case, I can only hope that this sample of the population speaks louder than the rest.