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| (From the rebuild of Madison Springs Hut, 2010) |
Some of my earliest memories are
of being at Mizpah Spring Hut when I was two years old. These are not clear
memories—I have scraps of images of being in a bunkroom, in a bunk bed, of the
place being filled with men with beards and women with braids—but they are distinct from the
photographs my parents took of my older sister and I on the trail and around
the hut, so I trust them to be real memories and not re-imagined creations from the pictures.
I don’t know if it is the
semi-primal nature of my earliest memories, but I have been drawn to wilderness
and wildness all my life. Growing up, the huts themselves carried totemic
significance to me as pinnacles within wilderness and mountains. I went to
Lonesome when I was an infant, Mizpah when I was two, and Mizpah and Lakes of
the Clouds when I was ten. That was all it took for me to fall hard for these
beautiful and weather-battered places set amid the mountains. I wanted to be of
that world, but saw the whole operation as something like aspiring to have Mt.
Olympus as a neighborhood. My eyes perked up when I spotted patches from the
huts on other kids bags at school, at summer camp, at college. I thought better of classmates from 4th grade through grad school when they knew anything about locations in the White Mountains.
When I was twenty-one, I began
working in the AMC huts. That time of my life has been more formative than any
other thus far. Many of my most cherished friendships come from those years, all those
hikes, busy nights, and the quiet riot of watching sunset gold become
starlight. In those many seasons, I learned to live in questioning balance with wilderness and sustainability, with conservation and recreation, and to appreciate the
many uses of the National Forests. These mountains were what I thought of in
order to live simply, think global, and act local. The thought of the migratory
songbird Bicknell’s Thrush—who’s breeding grounds are the climatically
endangered boreal zone of New England—have kept my electrical use low, bike use
high, and put up more than one clothesline. With others, I helped to rename a
mountain for Abigail Adams as a small act of equality up there. I have lived
above treeline in three seasons, hiked tough and beautiful miles, and done some
of the hard, strange, wonderful and dirty work that keeps these huts running.
Partly, of course, I was there
for my own selfish love and for the all-defying joy of being in those wilder
places. For a time, I felt I could no more leave the Whites than I could live
without my skin. Partly, though, I was there because, as I cannot imagine my
face or heart without them, I want to keep those doors open and latchstrings
out for others to come into wildness.
And so, hearing of a proposal for a ninth hut, I am torn between wanting more
openings to wildness for more people, and worrying about the ecological impact
of further backcountry construction and appropriation for high-impact use.
The AMC and New Hampshire State
Parks are proposing an additional hut to be built in Crawford Notch
State Park. From what I understand, it would be staffed and operated by the AMC
with a highly nuanced special use permit from the State, much as is used for
Lonesome Lake Hut. The hut would sleep about 50 people, be staffed for
full-service in summer and self-service in fall, winter and spring, and be a less than two-mile
hike from Rte. 302.
When I think of all the young
children who could fall in love with the wilds by coming to this place, who
could grow up to be passionate, stumbling advocates for wildness, I soften towards
the idea. Opposing it feels a bit like slamming the door to wilderness behind
me, which is unkind and unfair.
However, one of the most
important things I have learned because of loving the wilderness, that I
learned whilst living cheek by jowl by septic field and gray water system and
helicopter-removed human waste and solar panels alongside wilderness in the
huts, is that these wild places in the woods and mountains are fragile.
Resilient, too, but I truly cannot see enough reason to stretch the ecological
forgiveness of wild places to new limits by building additional
high-impact structures within their already much trammeled boundaries.
I can be defensive, selfish, and
cynical regarding the protection and use of public lands. I know this. I do not
have all the facts regarding this ninth hut, its conception, design, purpose or
function. What I do know is that eight such highly impacted sites, as well as
many campsites—staffed and unmanaged, legal and illegal—already exist in the relatively small area of
the White Mountain National Forest. What I do know is that the cost of staying
at a hut—adult member prices are over $100 per person on a weekday night in summer—is that
they are increasingly prohibitively expensive for many , especially local or
even in-state families. I believe it is reprehensible to continue to tie
wilderness experiences, environmental education and outreach to socioeconomic
class in an era of increasing awareness of climate change, classism, and
culturally pervasive racism. Shall only the rich be allowed easy access to the
soul-changing experience of a mountain sunrise, of the dawn chorus of birdsongs?
I know that the building of a
hut is physically and ecologically hard, and that the workers are there for the
love of the work, the place, and each other, not for munificent (or even consistent, year-round, living) wages.
I know that the NH State Park
system has had some financial difficulties in recent years and budget cycles
and perhaps whatever the agency might garner from a very special use permit
seems like a solution in that regard. I know that hut occupancy has been on the
rise, even as the rates increase, and perhaps another hut does seem the easiest
answer to satisfy demand. I know that I find it strange how little publicity
this proposal has had—the public comment period runs from July 17th-August
15th and two public meetings were held in New Hampshire. AMC members
with young children, in the greater Boston area—the demographic most likely to
support another family friendly hut destination—do not seem aware of this
proposal.
I know that I—as an
environmentalist who believes that much of climate change is the bastard
offspring of our unquestioned cultural demand for “more”—am inherently
distrustful of anything that involves more and bigger and new. I believe it
would be better to work with what resources are already built—huts, campsites,
hotels, and lodges—to achieve the goals of this proposed hut.
What I know most surely is that
the thought of breaking new ground in protected landscapes flies in the face of
what I learned to value intrinsically within those landscapes. I have loved
seeing and being part of the AMC huts’ attempts to transition toward ever
greener energies, design, and ideals. As mainstream culture chugs unchecked
towards more, these places continually push for efficiency, for shrinking the
ecological footprint, for protecting the landscapes even as they draw people
deeper in. As a naturalist—both front and backcountry—I felt that it was part
of my job to help people fall in love with the mountains and woods and lakes
and starlight around the huts. As noted ecologist Dr. Sandra Steingraber has
said, “what we love, we must protect.”
Even, I believe, from ourselves.
I write this achingly aware of
the privilege I have had in all my mountain life—from my infanthood to Hutmaster-ships.
I want those hills wild and open to the wise use of everyone. I want what
happens to my heart at the sound of a white-throated sparrow above treeline to
happen to everyone. I want as much of that landscape untouched as possible,
because I believe it does us good and better as a people to let more wildness
remain.
Until August 15th, public comments can be emailed to Johanna.lyons@dred.nh.gov or mailed to the Dept of Resources & Economic Development, Crawford Notch State Park Comments, 172 Pembroke Rd, PO Box 1856, Concord, NH 03302. If you have an opinion, share it there where it will do good. The public process is nil without an active and engaged public.