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[pct-l] Stuck on Stupid
- Subject: [pct-l] Stuck on Stupid
- From: wayneskraft at comcast.net (Wayne Kraft)
- Date: Sun Nov 27 21:26:54 2005
Many years ago I drove up to what is now a large parking area next to
the PCT where it crosses US Hwy 26 near Wapinitia Pass just south of
Mt. Hood. My objective was to cross country ski up the road to Frog
Lake Butte which started at the parking lot. There was at least
eight feet of snow on the road and piles and piles of fresh powder.
I could see right off that breaking trail was going to be a chore.
There were three families in four-wheel-drive rigs in the parking
lot. I said "Howdy" as I passed by. I figured they were just having
themselves a little rest stop. A few hours later I returned from my
sojourn on the Butte and as I reached the parking lot I noticed quite
a bit of noisy activity. I paused in the shadows to survey what it
was that I was about to ski through and this is what I saw: All
three of these experienced outdoorsmen had decided to drive up the
road to Frog Lake Buttes. They had advanced no more than 50 yards
when all three of their vehicles mired to the axles in soft snow with
nothing beneath them for traction but more soft snow. Cable was
strung everywhere from their attempts to winch themselves out of this
quagmire. It was clear even to an untrained observer that the group
had failed to include among its number anyone with a degree in
engineering. Bark was stripped off a couple of fir trees and,
through doubtless prodigious effort, a cable had been strung up and
over a high branch on one of the trees. Despite considering the
situation from every possible angle I could not discern by what
thought process these woodsmen had concluded that it would improve
things if they could somehow winch a Jeep CJ-5 up into a fir tree,
but that appeared to be the plan. (If any of you have seen the movie
"The Gods Must Be Crazy" you will have an appropriate image in
mind.) The male members of the party were covered in snow up to
their tonsils and had obviously been learning all about post-holing.
The kids had commenced to bawling their fool heads off. The women
folk were huddled off to one side discussing who would use which
divorce lawyer, reviewing the finer points of getting restraining
orders, plotting how to protect their interest in the community
property double-wide and the like. The dogs had swum out to the
plowed parking lot and were pretending they didn't know the homo
sapiens stuck in the snow.
I considered my options and decided on a course of action. I let
loose a whoop and skied straight down the fall line. When I got
close I veered off into the trees and commenced skiing big
looptyloops around their rigs, ducking under their cables and acting
for all the world like a happy little otter. I pulled to a stop in
the midst of the chaos and, with a wide grin, I remarked, "Man, what
a beautiful day! The snow just gets deeper and better the farther you
go up the road! You guys are just gonna LOOOOVE the view from the
top! But you better quit fooling around down here and get a move on
'cause it'll be dark and freezin' cold 'fore much longer." Then I
skied off to my car.
Now, so far as I know there was no law at that time prohibiting these
gentlemen from driving up the Frog Lakes Butte Road except, of
course, the laws of physics. Any idiot could plainly see that the
road was impassable and, even if you were tempted to give it a go
anyway, only a flock of itinerant morons would precipitously commit
all three vehicles to the enterprise at once. My point is that
ultimately there is really nothing you can do to stop stupid people
from abusing the PCT. You can't stop them with signs because they
will misread and/or misunderstand them, assuming that reading is a
skill they've mastered to any degree at all. Most of them are easily
distracted and I would guess that posting signs at trail heads with
arrows pointed in some direction other than the PCT and bearing the
words "Nudist Camp" would greatly reduce the problem. Ultimately
though, your hard core, illiterate, scoff-law moron will learn only
by associating his or her misbehavior with a viscerally nasty
experience. It is in the administration of such lessons, carefully
calculated to stop short of death or serious physical injury, to
which our creative energy ought to be directed. By way of
illustration, recall the situation Bill Bryson recounted in his book
"A Walk in the Woods" in which Bryson and his friend, Katz, were
literally forced out of a shelter on a stormy night by a group of
obnoxious morons. As they walked away from the shelter, Katz proudly
displayed the laces he had surreptitiously purloined from the boots
of the bull goose moron of the group. Yes, that's the sort of thing
I mean.
Wayne Kraft