Post 7

Well, I first of all, I apologize for not posting for such a long time.  I have no valid excuse.

Yesterday, unknowingly for me, was the end of an era.  Or, at least the season.  I have spent this whole summer working outside, enjoying the beautiful scenery, and the seemingly never-ending sunshine.  I have hiked hundreds of miles of trail over the past 6 months, seen most of the Tahoe National Forest, and experienced Tahoe living at its outdoorsy finest.  I have bombed class 3 rapids in an inflatable tube, climbed to peaks above 13,000 ft., explored ghost towns, caught wild trout that only live in the mountains, used hundred-year-old saws to clear wilderness areas, and so much more.  Needless to say, it has been an eventful and enriching season.

Last week was the epitome of a picturesque autumn: glazed sunshine that warms you, shadows that force a pull of the jacket tighter and colors that span the spectrum.  I know I have spoken about Aspens before (perhaps too much, as was conveyed by one reader), but I am going to speak on them again.  The trees that populate the Tahoe area seemed to take a hint from the cooling nights.  They could sense the dwindling power of the sun and decided to begin the process of conserving their energy.   The death of leaves of deciduous trees are an annual display of change that intersperse the landscape of green and brown with golden yellows, orange, and reds.  The change of the aspen is the autumnal mirror of the wildflower bloom of the spring.  Where the wildflowers dwell and flourish in dells, meadows and grassy slopes, the aspen are spread throughout the forest.  Roads become corridors of color and trails become paths lined with aspen paintbrushes along the sides.  My father often expounds that a man typically knows only about 10 colors.  I can vouch that I am decidedly void of the ability to definitively identify the shade that a single vein on a leaf can illustrate.  I am constantly reminded of how many colors there can be.  I think only those employees of paint and nail polish companies really understand the depth and matchlessness that an autumn can show. 

We had about a month of autumn this year, before today.  As I look out my window, I can see the flurries of snow falling onto the six inches that has already carpeted the ground.  This is the official start of winter in Tahoe and it is beautiful.  The only sadness that the snow brings is that it prevents any more work from being done in the field.  I have really appreciated the balance of field work and office work that this job has afforded me.  During the season, I barely felt as if I was working, but instead saw my job as a strenuous activity that I got paid for.  Who could complain about hiking in the woods, using tools, and talking with the public about the outdoors?  Don’t get me wrong, working in the office is fine too, but there is a feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction that comes from hard day working outside. 

I haven’t lived in a place that gets this much snow before.  Already this storm has shown me more of the cold stuff than I typically see in a year in my home town.  I’ll have to see if I get sick of it, but there are few things more magical to me than a forest covered in snow.

Post 6

I have come to find that there are a plethora of paradoxes in my line of work.  If not paradoxes, they are at least self-contradictions or oxymoronical.  It seems that every struggle for progress in natural resources is pushing against inherent self-supporting forces or values.  One of the areas that my department manages is the Granite Chief Wilderness area and the management of Wilderness is a prime example of contradiction in my work.

            Last week, my boss sent the trails intern and myself to the Region 5 Pacific Southwest Wilderness Ranger Academy.  The Wilderness Ranger academy is essentially the conference at the beginning of the season for Forest Service employees who work in the wilderness areas of California.  If you don’t work for the Forest Service and do not spend too much time on Forest Service land you probably do not know what I am talking about when I say Wilderness.  Don’t take it personally, I didn’t know what it really meant until I started working here either. 

            The Wilderness Act was passed by Congress in 1964 and many American outdoorsmen (and women) consider it to be one of the most poetic and environmentally savvy pieces of legislation to come down from Capitol Hill.  If there ever was a Hippie congress, this may have been it.  The funny thing is, the environment didn’t used be a partisan issue…but I digress.  The purpose of the Wilderness Act was to create designated areas “to assure that an increasing population, accompanied by expanding settlement and growing mechanization, does not occupy and modify all areas within the United States…leaving no lands designated for the preservation and protection in their natural condition…” (Wilderness Act, 1964).  Pretty powerful and controversial language, right?  Congress actually passed this with only one dissenting vote!  But here is where it gets really good:

Section C: A wilderness, in contrast with those areas where man and his own works dominate the landscape, is hereby recognized as an area where the earth and its community of life are untrammeled by man, where man himself is a visitor who does not remain.  An area of primeval character and influence, without permanent improvements or human habitation…[and] to have been affected primarily by the forces of nature, with the imprint of man’s work substantially unnoticeable…[and] has outstanding opportunities for solitude…

-Wilderness Act of 1964

            Doesn’t it sound like the Land Before Time or something out of a Jules Verne novel?  How many places of “primeval character” have you been to in the United States?  When the Wilderness Act passed, 9.1 million acres were set-aside in 13 states.  Today over 109 million acres are now part of the Wilderness system in America.  Every year, thousands of acres are added to the system.  There seems to be a little competition or at least feigned snobbery between the National Park Service and the Forest Service.  So, in keeping loyalty to the home team, it pains me to say that the National Park Service manages the most acreage of Wilderness.  It is, however, a slight panacea to say that the Forest Service manages the most Wilderness areas. 

            The idea of wilderness is an integral facet of the idea of America.  The history of America was formed on the backbone of people daring to go into the unknown and uninhabited (or so they thought).  There is something about the word wilderness that sends shivers down my spine.  Go ahead and try it: think of an area, wild, full of rushing streams, twittering songbirds, dramatic boulders and bluffs.  Groves of trees reaching for the sun with canopies casting deep shadows to the soft underbrush.  Have you ever been somewhere that has no quick rescue if things turn pear-shaped?  There is an excitement of knowing that you are on your own, an apprehensive willingness to test your own skills and resolve.  There is a comfort as well; the ability to trust yourself in any situation is one of the best gifts that the wilderness can give you. 

            The Wilderness Academy was held in the town of Lee Vining, which is located on the eastern side of the Sierra Nevada Mountains and 10 miles from the east entrance to Yosemite National Park.  The town also sits adjacent to Mono Lake, which is a massive alkali salt-water body that is known to host the majority of seagull rookeries in California.  I heard a statistic that claimed that 90% of all seagulls in California were born at Mono Lake.  While seagulls are not my favorite winged beasts, it is an interesting fact, at least.  The area leading to our campground was in a valley surrounded by the ridged mountains leading into Yosemite.  If you haven’t been to the area let me give you a sense of the mountains with one word: intimidating.  The granite fists seem to thrust straight up towards the sky, the stony knuckles snow-capped and the veins pumping with rock talus.  Storm clouds and rain darkened the peaks and ridges.  It was a striking backdrop to our streamside campsite, to be sure.

            Our campsite was located directly adjacent to Lee Vining creek, a stream no more than 15 feet across, with schools of Rainbow Trout swimming through the crystal clear snow melt.  I really wish I had brought my fly fishing rod, because all I would have had to do is drop the line by hand to catch a fish.  The stream, rushing and swirling through the rocks sounds like a rock concert if you are trying to sleep next to it.  But somehow, the drumbeat of water on rock fades into thoughts about the day and in conjunction with a warm sleeping bag, sleep befalls you faster than the strike of a trout on a mayfly. 

            I think Aspens (Populus tremuloides) are my new favorite trees.  I spotted a group of them in my camp.  With the pale bark of a birch or alder, the Aspen is unassuming: not reaching any height of dominance.  Often, Aspens grow in clusters or groves due to their amazing ability to clone itself simply by root propagation.  There is a colony of Aspens in Utah that is estimated to weigh over 80,000 kilograms and be over 80,000 years old.  Aspens also provide an area with habitat diversity since many small mammals and birds are absent where Aspens are not present.  The thing that I love the most about Aspens is the leaf.  Individually, the leaves are heart-shaped and generally no larger than 1 1/2 “ across.  The petioles of the leaves are flexible and flattened, which allows them to turn nearly 270° without consequence.  The branches hang hundreds of leaves that the wind flashes back and forth.  The leaves show both sides, as if they were spouses displaying a new dress.  The thousands of fluttering, excited leaves create the illusion of the tree dancing spiritedly to no particular tune except the soft breeze.  I can only imagine what symphony to which I am deaf that the trees are receptive to.  The Ponderosa Pine (Pinus ponderosa) are the wallflowers of this concert, mildly observing the frolicking Aspen groves like the way men are oft to look on with appreciative longing at groups of pretty girls on a dance floor.

           

The main reason that my boss sent us down to the Wilderness Academy was for one of the two-day certification sessions.  The session that we signed up for was to receive a certification to buck logs with a crosscut saw.  What this means to laypeople is that I will be able to cut up fallen logs with one of the vintage saws that you always see in old logging photos.  If you don’t know what I am talking about I highly suggest you click here and look at the photos at the bottom:  http://www.whatcommuseum.org/photo-archives/category/1-darius-kinsey
Crosscut saws are still used today because of the tenets of the Wilderness Act.  The Act prohibits the use of mechanized machinery within the boundaries, which means no chain saws.  The trails in the wilderness still need to be cleared of fallen logs, and so the trail crews (us) have to cut them out some way.  Unfortunately, crosscut saws are not widely produced anymore.  The steel is different and the molds for the vintage saws no longer exist.  This means that the vintage saws from the late 1800’s and early 1900’s are invaluable and irreplaceable.  I feel like a turn of the century logger when I work with these saws, and I really wish that I could grow a proper moustache or beard.  It is amazing how sharp and efficient these saws are.  With a two man bucking saw, it is possible to cut through a 40” diameter log in minutes.  Apparently, in New Zealand and Australia there are forestry competitions that feature sawyers capable of beating chainsaws with crosscuts.  I cut out my first log with a crosscut and felt like the sawyers of old. 

The area that we were working in was near Mammoth Mountain.  A wind event in December had clocked speeds of over 180 mph, and then the wind gauge broke from strain.  The event purportedly brought down 20,000 trees in the forest and the valley we were doing our training in was ground zero.  The area looked like a war zone:  snags and green trees alike crisscrossed the trails like pick up sticks and root balls turned up so much of the earth that finding a way through the area was maze-like.  We had about 7 different groups with tools and a saw each.  After 4 hours of work the lot of us had only managed to clear about 50 yards of trail, and it still needed hours more work to bring it back to Forest Service trail specifications.  For a point of reference, we usually can clear and maintain about 5 10 miles of trail in a day, so 50 yards is ridiculously slow going.

Back at the main academy we listened to a speaker that posed some interesting ideas about Wilderness in America and the modern world.  Take a moment to scroll back up and refresh yourself with the sections of the Wilderness Act.  OK, still sounds pretty poetic right?  Well, it most definitely is more John Muir than John Adams for a Congressionally passed bill.  However, as with all legislation that is based on ideals, the follow through of the Act has complications that are contrary to the philosophies upon which it is founded.  And more I think about it, the wilderness ideal isn’t really an ideology, more a theology.  People revere and are protective of nature as a solemn and wild entity.  Ay, there’s the rub: if nature is an entity, protecting it with laws requires defining it. 

The Wilderness Act prohibits some actions, such as using mechanized machinery or flying aircraft low over the boundaries.  It also encourages other actions, such as the Leave no Trace guidelines.  The bureaucracy of Wilderness requires a definition of what Wilderness is.  By defining something that, in essence, is supposed to be wild and indefinable, you limit its potentiality.  For example, the Wilderness Act contains the description of areas to be “untrammeled”.  Well, by definition, untrammeled means a no restrictions or impediments to freedom.  By including that language in the Act and by managing and controlling the uses of Wilderness Areas you are, in a certain perspective, violating the Act itself.  A cyclic system can be observed when a natural area is managed: a disagreement leads to a case being sent to court, which prompts a ruling that leads to a new laws or regulations.  These regulations are, of course, constantly in under scrutiny or public criticism, which leads to more conflict, and that starts the cycle again.  The more that wild areas are defined, the more these areas will lose their wild character.  Some even argue that the professionalization and management of the Wilderness can or has led to a homogenization of the diversity of the Wilderness areas. 

The counterargument to this view point is this: what do you think the National Parks and Wilderness areas would be like without the laws in place?  As much as you can criticize the agencies that manage public lands, America would be a very different nation without the people who have dedicated their lives to making sure every citizen has lands and wilderness to discover for themselves.   That mindset brings me back to the abbreviated mission statement of the Forest Service: “Caring for the land and serving people”. 

The way that I like to think of the Wilderness topic is the same way that Winston Churchill described democracy:

No one pretends that democracy is perfect or all-wise.  Indeed, it has been said that democracy is the worst form of government, except all those other forms that have been tried from time to time.

I have worked a few outreach events that allowed me to interact with the public and hear what they have to say about the Forest Service and sometimes to my consternation, the federal government as well.  There tends to be only polarized opinions: most of the public is very happy with the work that we (Forest Service) do and the results that we achieve.  But, there are always those other people that think that every branch of the federal government and swollen and filled with lazy people.  To those opinions, I usually keep my smile on, nod vigorously and sit back in my chair and listen.  While I would love to fulfill all of their dreams of what the government should be (usually filled with things unattainable on the level of free ice cream for everyone every Friday), you cant always please everyone all the time.  What we can, and have been doing for over 100 years, is provide unabashed outdoor experiences for those brave enough to challenge themselves.  And what do you receive as ample reward?  The personal discovery of things made by nature and the appreciation of the interconnected world that supports you.  So the next time you have a free weekend this summer, instead of succumbing to the draw of the television or computer (like the one you are on now), go discover your local wild places.  Sit by a stream, eat lunch in a meadow, hug a tree, hang your feet over a ridge.  You may discover something about yourself as well. Or not.  But it’s your call.

By very definition this wilderness is a need. The idea of wilderness as an area without man's influence is man's own concept. Its values are human values. Its preservation is a purpose that arises out of man's own sense of his fundamental needs.

-Howard Zahniser, The Need for Wilderness Areas 

Post 5

I always loved the month of May.  When I was a kid, May marked the time of year where things started to change. 

Growing up in the foothills of Washington, there were two seasons during the year: Grey and Summer.  For 8 months out of the year, starting in the middle of September, the skies darken, the weather cools, and the whole state seems to brace itself for another wet season.  Don’t get me wrong, Autumn is my favorite time of year.  But there is a reason it is also called Fall: it is short-lived.  The changing of the leaves paints the ground in a myriad brilliance of color, which is quite gorgeous.  The leaves seem to know something we do not: that it is time for something darker and perhaps it is best to wait it out.  Everyone who learns that I am from Seattle always asks me the same question:  “So, uh, it rains a lot up there, huh?”  My answer is always as dour and pallid as the question itself: “Yep.”  What non-Washingtonians don’t know about Seattle is that it does not rain there like the movies portray.  It is true that most days have rain, but it is not a constant drenching downpour like the emotional climax of a Nicholas Sparks movie.  Instead, the blue of the sky seems hide beneath a smothering wan blanket, like a child afraid of the dark of the closet.  Just as the flashlight brandished by the child beneath the blanket is muted, so is the sunlight above the encompassing grey. 

But in May, the sun seems to throw off the dark mantle and shine through the falling water, showering the ground in a dazzling rainbow of light and mist.  The plants green and reach towards the sky, drinking both the cordial rays and showers heavily.  Flowers bloom and signal to the people that it is time for rebirth into the outdoors.  It didn’t really matter what temperature it was; guys would wear shorts and girls would wear dresses when the sun came out.  Usually, I would watch all of this through the looking glass that was the classroom windows.  I would see the change in the season and long to be a part of it.  There seemed to be a low buzzing energy the started with Spring, like a steadily increasing bass line beneath harmony and chorus.  Everyone would smile a little more, laugh a little easier, and rowdiness was rampant. 

I can still see all of these things here in Truckee.  The transition may not be as visibly apparent, since there is no rain to shoo away, but the sun awakens the population all the same.  The effect is amplified with people that spend their lives outdoors.  Those that are in tune with nature know this season well, and excitement builds with each rising degree mark on the thermometer.  The best lubricant to get people out of their winter hibernation has always been alcohol.  I went out for a few beers in Truckee last Friday and the population was celebrating the sun in full swing.  All of the bars were packed with people.  When I say people, I mean mostly men.  All of my senses picked up energy of some kind.  The street and bars smelled of a familiar mixture of stale beer, ammonia, the dense mass of a crowd, and cigarettes.  All of the people were talking over the speakers, reverberating the songs of inebriation and love lost.  Some of the girls empowered by liquid confidence decided that the time was ripe for karaoke.  Unfortunately, their voices were soured with slurring and missed intonation.

I usually mark Memorial Day weekend as the unofficial start of the Summer.  The weather is usually pleasant and there is a plethora of activities and events in any one locale.  Ironically enough, the area around Lake Tahoe traditionally gets one last snowfall every Memorial Day weekend.  I was lucky enough to dodge the cold weather and instead headed west to Sonoma County for a little vacation.  Sonoma is a magical place filled to the brim with natural beauty and concerted human artisanal traditions.  Where Tahoe is an outdoorsman’s paradise, Sonoma is a place of gastronomic wonder.  But, my vacation was otherwise unrelated to my work and so I will just say that it definitely got me ready for a summer packed with sun, dirt, and fun.  The true trail work starts in earnest now, with volunteer crews arriving on trails.          

“Sun is shining, the weather is sweet. 

Makes you want to move your dancing feet. 

To the rescue, here I am!”

-Bob Marley, Sun is Shining

Post 4

So I know that my last entry was more like a stream of consciousness essay about my beliefs, so I thought I would spend more time on the work that I am doing and some stories from the past week.  I have been working for the Truckee Ranger District for almost a month and I think that I have gotten the hang of the day-to-day tasks and lifestyle.  The office itself is fairly laidback for a government building.  Everyone is very pleasant and willing to help out with whatever task is at hand.  Most of employees are not at their desks everyday and presumably that means that they are out in the field, which is pretty cool since field work is always more fun than office work.  Today I am working at the front desk and answering any questions that the public may have about trails or recreation.  More importantly, that means that I am in uniform.  There is something about putting on a uniform with a badge that makes you feel special, or at least set apart.  It is an outward manifestation of a position of importance to the public.  Mostly, it just makes you feel like a badass.  You stand a little straighter, walk a little taller and smile more toward those around you, because you are no longer just representing yourself; you are representing everything the Forest Service stands for. And that is a good feeling. 

            Unfortunately, the office is fairly dead and I have yet to answer one question pertaining to my department.  So instead I will tell you about some work I did a couple days ago on a trail. 

            Mountain biking is fast becoming a major outdoor sport in America and our department is making moves to manage more trails for bikers.  One of the most popular trails that we manage is the Overland Commemorative Emigrant Trail.  It consists of 15 miles of cross-country biking bliss that roves through stands of Jeffery Pine, alpine meadows, and granite basins.  Last Tuesday we got a call in that there were two sizable trees that had fallen across the trail.  Some bikers relish these challenges and make little ramps out of rocks to jump the logs.  Although it is comical to watch bikers try to fly like superman after their bike hits the log, they tend to meet the ground at breakneck speed, so to speak.  We at the Forest Service try to avoid casualties and injuries on public lands: they tend to create even more paperwork than we have to deal with already. 

More realistically, most bikers see the log and end up going off trail to avoid them.  This means that multiple trails start forming which leads to increased erosion, water on the trail, plant/sapling damage, and the bikers having to suddenly change course.              So it falls to the recreation department to manage the trails and remove the fallen logs.  So our team loaded up and headed out to the nearest access road to the section of the trail with the impeding logs.  My coworker, Bob, produced a fairly ingenious backpack with straps designed to hold a chainsaw.  The side straps held canisters of gasoline and oil to reduce friction on the saw teeth.  He then donned specialized chainsaw chaps, gloves and a hard hat. After helping him into the gear I felt as if I was a squire outfitting a knight for the battle ahead.  I myself carried an axe just in case things got dicey.  Thinking back to my childhood I remembered the afternoons spent chopping firewood for the family and simultaneously cursing my father’s station as the chore-mongerer.  But, in retrospect those long hours of using tools like splitting mauls and hatchets to effect usable materials out of cords of wood have become invaluable experience for most of my jobs here at the Forest Service.   

Bob, whom I affectionately call Bobcat to his chagrin, began to move up the trail garbed in the necessary armor and weaponry.  Joe and I followed after Bob, axe and radio in hand.  I learned how to use the radio this week, and tentatively hoped that I would get to use CB talk and make up my own callsign.  But no, only plain talk is used, and my aspirations of my super cool callsign (Hawkeye) were replaced with a three-digit number.  For some reason, they take things like emergency radio transmissions pretty seriously at the Forest Service.  As we moved up the trail, Bob pointed out certain aspects of trail management that I was previously unaware of.  The fact that I hadn’t noticed the evidence of work on trails is intentional, since the aim of trail maintenance is to have the trail look as naturally formed as possible.  Bob explained formations like berms (raised edges of trails created by heavy use) and cupping (water created erosion pathways on trails) that trails are designed to resist and weather.  As we mounted a hill, we came upon a forested valley that stretched out below us for a few hundred yards before rising again in the distance and peaking a mile or so away.  As we began down the valley on the trail Joe suddenly stopped us and pointed to the middle of the side of the valley we were on. 

               “Coyote.”  Joe whispered under his breath.

            My breath quickened as my eye connected with another pair that belonged to one of the most elusive and controversial animals in the United States.  In the western states, European settlers have regarded coyotes and wolves as livestock poachers and “varmints”.  I don’t know about you, but whenever anyone says varmint I think of Yosemite Sam and his overactive trigger finger.  Unfortunately, that cartoon imagery is not far from the historical reality of the West.  Only recently has the sentiment towards wolves and coyotes changed for some in the West.  In December, the first wolf was spotted in California since 1926.  Wolves were so persecuted and heavily hunted in America that a group of 66 Canadian wolves had to be introduced into Yellowstone in 1996 to try and restore the ecosystem. 

Coyotes have not had the same treatment.  Coyotes are not listed as an endangered species like the grey wolf is and still holds the reputation of a nuisance.  It is legal to hunt coyotes year round in California and some areas that have large numbers of ranchers hold annual coyote hunting competitions.  Bob said that one year he was passing through one of these towns and saw a stack of coyote corpses that was chest high.  Aside from the obvious bloodthirsty waste that comes with hunting predators, from an ecological perspective, hunting a keystone species is terrible for an area.  Coyotes prey upon a variety of animals and are necessary to keep population numbers of other species in check.  Think of an ecosystem like cyclical dynamic.  The plants feed the herbivores, the herbivores feed the predators, the predators feed the detritivores, and the detritivores break down the dead matter into usable parts for plants.  If you remove or reduce a section of the cycle, the balance is thrown into chaos and the ecosystem does not function.

The coyote near the trail warily eyed us from the distance, its brown and red fur rippling in the wind.  With one last look it bounded into the valley, instantly camouflaged by the brown soils behind it.  It was my first coyote sighting in the wild.  We continued along the trail and reached the area where the downed logs were located.  One had already been moved off the trail, but the other remained.  It was small enough for the three of us to push off the trail, which is preferable to using the chainsaw anyway since it reduces noise pollution and saves gas.  Our task completed, we started to head back down the trail towards the rig. 

On our way back Bob started telling me about the various people that can live at elevation.  He mentioned that recently a girl was found in the basement in a house nearby who had been kidnapped on the southern shore of Lake Tahoe and held for twenty years.  Oh, I forgot to mention that he had two children by her.  Wonderful story, I know.  He postulated that the elevation and remoteness makes for disturbed human beings.   He told me that once he was camping in the wilderness with his wife and went off to explore a bit on his own.  From a distance he saw that two men had saw his wife and began moving towards her from behind.  The men were still a ways off, and so Bob was able to rush back and stay with his wife as they passed. 
“You can never be too careful with people in the wilderness.”  Bob explained.  It truly is the lawless Wild West out here in some ways.  All of these stories had me in a particularly dark mindset on the trek back to the rig.  Lost in my thoughts about kidnapping and crazy mountain people, I followed Bob and Joe trudging along the trail, eyes on the track below me. 

Suddenly, from behind I heard a voice, not 10 feet away from me that seemed to carry all the promises of a swift demise on the trail:

“On your right!” the demonic call sounded to the rear. Thoughts of bearded-moonshine swigging-pickaxe-wielding phantoms flashed in front of me and I jumped a foot straight up towards the tree crowns.  After landing, being of swift agility and doused with fear-induced flight I quickly sidestepped the trail. 

A fearsome figure ran past me: naught but just over 5 feet tall and clad in running gear, with a huge grin upon her face.  Bob immediately burst into laughter and after I discovered that I was not going to become the next ingredient in mountain man soup, I laughed as well.  On her return run, the scarecrow runner and I exchanged a smile and a chuckle.  I later told Bob, “That is how you really pickup girls: let them scare the crap out of you and show them how sensitive you are.”

I always thought that those movies and shows with guys sitting around the campfire telling scary stories were ridiculous and prided myself on not being subject to such low frights.  Well, I guess I learned that scary stories can be pretty effective. 

“We reached the old wolf in time to watch a fierce green fire dying in her eyes. I realized then, and have known ever since, that there was something new to me in those eyes—something known only to her and to the mountain. I was young then, and full of trigger-itch; I thought that because fewer wolves meant more deer, that no wolves would mean hunters' paradise. But after seeing the green fire die, I sensed that neither the wolf nor the mountain agreed with such a view.”

                                                                                    -Aldo Leopold, Sand County Almanac.