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| May 12, 2008 |
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by William Faries Douglas, Madsen, Baird, Udall, and Gore
It has been fifty years since William O. Douglas penned those words, reflecting on the influences that guided his life from the beauty and solitude of the Pacific Northwest wilderness where he grew up hiking, climbing and camping to the United States Supreme Court where he defended these open lands and the way of life they foster. Whether he was losing his way on a high mountain trail, scaling a fragile rock face without ropes or shoes or learning to spear salmon from a Yakima Indian, Douglas, in his own words, had let go of not only the "restraints of society, but also its safeguards." In doing so, he cultivated self-reliance coupled with a profound respect for the power of individual decisions. The wilderness of the American West may seem a long way from the U.S. Supreme Court in Washington, DC, but the independence and freedom it fostered were the traits Douglas witnessed in his judicial heroes, when he would excitedly settle into a back seat in the Yakima courthouse to observe the judges and lawyers at work. The law, to Douglas, was above all an attempt to uncover the truth, to get at what was most essential in life. He recalled being particularly impressed when O.E. Bailey, a local insurance salesman, returned from seeing the Supreme Court in session. "He said there was no appeal from its rulings except to God." That was a metaphor the young Douglas, back from hiking a wilderness that entranced individuals from Meriwether Lewis and William Clark to John Muir and Theodore Roosevelt, could appreciate. When the editors of the Washington Post supported the construction of a highway along the historic C & O Canal towpath, Douglas challenged them to take a spring hike with him along the towpath’s 185 miles. I wish the man who wrote your editorial...would take time off and come with me. One who walked the canal its full length could plead that cause with the eloquence of a John Muir. He would get to know muskrats, badgers, and fox; he would hear the roar of wind in thickets; he would see strange islands and promontories through the fantasy of fog; he would discover the glory there is in the first flower of spring, the glory there is even in a blade of grass; the whistling wings of ducks would make silence have new values for him. Certain it is that he could never acquire that understanding going 60, or even 25, miles an hour. The Post editors accepted the challenge, survived the hike, and retracted their previous editorial. In 1971 the canal was named a national park. Six years later, it was officially dedicated to Douglas. Just as they did for Douglas nearly a century ago, the mountains and rivers of the Pacific Northwest continue to strike a deep chord in their children. Whether measured by the cries of the oystercatcher on an Oregon beach, the solitude of a Cascades winter, or the rush of pounded granite flowing in an Alaskan stream, wilderness is as much a part of life here as flesh and bone. Wilderness removes the blindfolds we wear in everyday life, changing how we view the world. Our man- made, cookie-cutter landscape of office buildings and strip malls deadens our perceptions and offers little to stimulate the eye or shake us out of our biological cruise control. Step into a forest, though, or push off in your kayak, and your perspective changes. Wilderness travel demands that we see things differently: How steep is the snow on this slope? Where are the surface currents heading on the river? What do those clouds signal for tomorrow’s weather? We find ourselves readjusting to natural rhythms like the tides which, routinely ignored in our everyday lives, quickly become a central facet of life on a sailing or sea kayaking trip. And we reorient ourselves with the night sky, normally drowned in the glare of cities, just as our ancestors did regularly for thousands of years. Many of us have a need to escape the bubble of everyday life in modern society. Automakers have made a fortune portraying the Sports Utility Vehicle as the perfect tool for breaking the monotony-even for people who never go off-road. Still, America’s wilderness legacy remains at risk. Today we face environmental challenges unimaginable in the days of Douglas, when salmon could be fished by hand from Northwest rivers; old growth forests towered across vast areas of land; and the world’s climate was not affected appreciably by industrial emissions. How will we satisfy our demand for lumber without losing the salmon; our hunger for energy without opening up more land for drilling in Alaska or altering even further our global atmosphere? And will we still have wilderness, in the sense that Wallace Stegner once defined it: "...an area where the earth and its community of life are untrammeled by man, where man himself is a visitor who does not remain." Twenty years after Douglas’ death, a new cast of leaders-in business and politics-are working to inspire their peers and the public to support the role of wilderness in our society. Whether born and raised in the West, or just itinerant visitors, they carry with them the unmistakable imprimatur of a life guided by love for those wild, roadless vistas where silence holds dominion, awaiting the refugees from civilized society. Dennis Madsen, Chief Operating Officer of Recreational Equipment Incorporated (REI) understands the same feeling of place that kept William Douglas so entranced during his time on the bench. I spoke with Madsen about his wilderness roots last December, as an early season storm masked Mount Rainier from view. Introduced by his parents to camping, he joined the Explorer Scouts in 1962, when their big focus at the time was river running. "We spent all winter building plywood boats from scratch-decks, oars, everything," Madsen says. "When spring arrived, we would go for a shakedown run to test them out. The dream for every 14-year-old in the scouts was to run the Colorado through the Grand Canyon and, lo and behold, we got to do it." "Here," he says, "it’s all about the mountains and the water. Given the backdrop and the people, it’s not surprising that so many outdoor oriented companies - REI, Eddie Bauer, Mountain Safety Research, and others - are based here." One of Madsen’s initiatives at REI has been to stretch the company’s reach overseas, where other cultures also find the NW lifestyle - and its focus on wilderness - alluring. This past April, the company opened its first overseas store, a flagship facility in the heart of Tokyo. "At first we thought we were exporting the Northwest lifestyle to Japan" said Madsen, "but we actually found a lot of similarities between the appreciation of nature and the outdoors in Japan that replicate our own feelings about the mountains and water in the Northwest." Brian Baird and Mark Udall are both avid outdoorsmen who happen to be freshmen members of the U.S. Congress. Baird represents Washington’s third congressional district in the southwest corner of the state.-William Douglas’ old camping grounds-while Udall hails from Colorado’s second district, centered near his Boulder home. Their weekly schedules are typical for their job description, which is to say that they are brutally hectic, leaving little time for wilderness experiences. Baird grew up hiking and fishing in Colorado, studied at the University of Utah and University of Wyoming, and moved to the Northwest shortly afterward to complete his training in neuropsychology. Before going into politics, Baird worked as a psychologist and spent many of his summers hiking, sea kayaking, and climbing in the Northwest. Though politics is a path he has chosen, it is still a challenge for him to be away from the wilderness experiences to which he was accustomed. Particularly when he can see so much wilderness from his own district. "There was one day last year when I was driving with my staff up the Columbia River Gorge. It was a beautiful day, the sun shining brightly off the snow on the range. I looked up at it all and even though I was in the van, I knew what it smelled like up there, knew how the snow would feel in my hands and under my skis. There is something truly sublime about deep powder skiing in the backcountry. But to do that now, I’d have to be in great shape, and I haven’t had time for that." The sacrifices are worth it, though, at least for now. "Is there a part of my life I miss so bad that it hurts? Yes, absolutely. It sounds like whining, but it is a profound feeling of loss. Yet in whatever you do - especially on wilderness trips - you accept some unpleasantness in order to achieve your goal, whether that means climbing a mountain or passing legislation or whatever. I love the work I’m doing here for my district and for wilderness around the country. It’s definitely worth it." The most memorable break in his Congressional regimen this past year was when Congress unexpectedly adjourned early, sending Baird and his colleagues back to their districts without any planned events. He took advantage of the surprise holiday to climb Mount St. Helens, a therapeutic hike from a heavily scheduled life. That night, he says, was the best night he has slept in years. "I usually prefer going into the wilderness or the backcountry by myself," he said. "There’s a sense of fairness in nature," he said, perhaps reflecting on his working life in Washington. "Nature does not set out to undermine you. You take it on your own terms and, as a result, you don’t get frustrated or cynical of nature either." Baird put those thoughts to practice on a climb of Wyoming’s Grand Teton several years ago, when an unexpected thunderstorm moved in on his climbing party, bringing heavy hail and lightning. Baird and his group quickly prepared to descend the mountain. "We had to get ourselves out of there. No one was going to help us, no one was going to critique us. In those situations, no one cares what your position is on the issues!" Asked if he used his professional psychology background along with the perspective he has gained living in Washington state to analyze his colleagues on Capitol Hill, Baird answered: "I think it’s hard to say that something is missing from any individual’s life, but I do think that human beings who have never spent a night outdoors are missing something. And I say human beings in a sincere way. As creatures, we evolved in an intimate relationship with nature, at least until very recently." "A main difference between the Pacific Northwest and other parts of the country is that nature is all around you. When you’re in the middle of Seattle, you can see Rainier, the Olympics, Puget Sound. It’s the same in my hometown of Vancouver - I can wake up and see Mount Hood, Mount St. Helens, and the Columbia River. It’s all there. That’s a big difference." Mark Udall carries a name well known in both environmental and political circles. Prior to entering Colorado politics in 1997, Udall served for ten years as the Executive Director of Outward Bound, one of the country’s premiere outdoor training schools. His father, Morris Udall, represented Arizona in Congress from 1961 to 1991, serving as chairman of the House Interior Committee for 14 years and running for President in 1976. His uncle, Stewart Udall, was a Congressman from 1954 to 1960, subsequently serving as Secretary of the Interior during the Kennedy and Johnson Administrations. Today, the Udall scion works side-by-side with his cousin Tom, a former state attorney general who is now a first term Congressman from New Mexico. Despite all these male influences, however, it may have been Udall’s mother whose appreciation of the outdoors had the greatest impact on the future Congressman. Norma Udall spent her childhood summers alternating between Rocky Mountain and Glacier National Parks, where her father was one of the first national park concessionaires. While hiking and fishing these great wilderness areas, she developed a passion for outdoor adventure that was eagerly absorbed by her children on wilderness treks throughout the west, Alaska, and Mexico. Mark Udall carried that passion with him on nine Himalayan expeditions, including a solo ascent of 28,200-foot Kangchenjunga, the third highest mountain in the world. Much of his training and preparation for the Himalayan trips occurred in the Northwest. Before moving to the CEO position at Outward Bound, Udall worked at the school’s Pacific Crest facility in Oregon, climbing Rainier and Hood several times and spending a considerable amount of time camping in the Wallowas. Mountains, he believes, help put life into perspective. "On the mountains," he says, "mistakes are fatal. In politics, mistakes are wounding emotionally, but you recover. Personally, wilderness helps me get back in touch with natural rhythms, helps me reflect and, in the process, restore my creativity." In the past year, Udall has managed to escape the life of cell phones and roll calls, spending a week last summer in the Collegiate Peaks wilderness and taking shorter cross-country skiing and rock climbing trips. Despite all the time indoors, confined to his suit, Udall seems comfortable with his new life in DC. "There were several years when I spent more nights sleeping under the stars than a roof, so the move hasn’t been bad at all. I know there are plenty of people profiting spiritually and emotionally from wilderness, and I enjoy fighting for them." Udall and Baird have some similar goals when it comes to environmental legislation, serving as co-sponsors for a bill that would designate 9.1 million acres of fragile red rock land in Utah as permanent wilderness, and another which would provide permanent protection for 1.5 million acres of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. Closer to home, Baird is supporting efforts to expand the Nisqually Wildlife Refuge near Olympia and to designate the 50-mile Hanford Reach section of the Columbia River as a wild and scenic river. All the issues have been challenging sells in a Congress long sensitive to any wilderness designation and legislation that impacts resource use. "There is still this ‘Lords of Yesteryear’ mentality that tries to keep holding on to resource policies that were designed a century ago," Udall said. "Looking ahead, the ‘New Economy’ in the west is still going to depend on grazing, but perhaps less so on mining and logging." Away from Capitol Hill, the two men have also committed themselves to a climbing trip together, along with some other wilderness supporters in Congress. But schedules, not enthusiasm, have been the biggest barrier. "More people in Congress are leading a balanced life than the public might think, but you can get sucked into a stale life here if you let yourself," Udall said, a thought echoed by Baird: "Everyone on the Hill has his or her own way of being social, of relaxing, but I do think it would be better if more of us got out into the wilderness - did a rafting trip or something - and did it together, so you could actually get to know people beyond these stale hallways. That’s definitely missing here." It is a misconception of those who stay home that someone who is willing to leave society behind for days, weeks, or months at a time to trek into the wilderness is a risk-taker. Wilderness travel favors the resourceful, the conservative. "Show me an adventure," the polar explorer Roald Amundsen once wrote, "and I’ll show you a lack of preparation." We enter wilderness not to risk our lives, but to regain control over them. Given this, it should not be surprising that leaders like Madsen, Udall, and Baird have such strong wilderness backgrounds. Sufficient preparation ( in the wilderness or in life) matched with a strong eye for detail, can serve well in any surroundings. Perhaps the latest leader to strengthen his wilderness resumé is Vice President Al Gore. Long an advocate for environmental causes, the Vice President undertook his first technical mountaineering trip last summer, a quiet ascent of Mount Rainier with his son. The two were led up the mountain by family friend and Seattle attorney Jim Frush, an accomplished guide with mountains like McKinley and Everest to his credit. In recent years, only about half the people who attempted the climb were successful, and most of those did it in better conditions than Gore had. A storm moved in on the mountain soon after they began, and, with ice forming on their packs, the party encountered a number of groups that had to turn back before reaching the summit. "I wouldn’t say the conditions were dangerous, but they were miserable," said Jon Jarvis, superintendent of the park and one of the primary people involved in ensuring the safety - and secrecy - of the Gore climb. "It was a real endurance test." The group took one of the more common routes, pushing past the lodge at Paradise to camp near Anvil Rock on the mountain’s southeast side the first night. The next day they crossed the upper portions of Cowlitz Glacier and ascended the Higher Cathedral Gap to camp at Ingraham Flats, at 11,300 feet. Early the next morning, the group awoke to complete the final three thousand feet, much of it in the dark. They returned to Paradise at 9pm that night, some 19 hours after the ascent began. The press was kept unaware of Gore’s climb, believing the Vice President was in training for a marathon later in the year (he completed the Marine Corps marathon with his daughters in 1998). It was only after the party was on the mountain that rumors began circulating. This was not the first time Gore had slipped under the media radar to have some quality time with his children, but it was unusual in requiring four consecutive days of his schedule to be blocked off, a significant break for any presidential candidate. "I think it’s an indicator of the type of man he is that he did this challenging climb," Congressman Udall said during our meeting. "It may even be part of the reason I endorsed him." The two had a chance to discuss the trip earlier this year, and Udall took advantage of the opportunity to press Gore to take on other climbs. "I suggested we get together and do a climb of Grand Teton, but he said he’d like to try Denali instead." Whether the Vice President will have time for such an undertaking remains to be seen, but Udall believes that it will happen regardless of the outcome of the November elections. "I think that the wilderness and being outdoors is an important part of his life and that he’ll find time to do these things as President. It would be good for him. I know personally that this is what keeps me healthy, energetic, and creative." If Al Gore does achieve both of his goals-the Presidency and Mount McKinley-he may be the first of our nation’s leaders with significant mountaineering experience to his credit. But the success will come with a responsibility, one that John Muir laid before his descendants nearly a century ago. "Do something good for wilderness," he said, "and make the mountains glad." William Douglas never really left the mountains. During breaks or, more often, dull moments in the courtroom, Douglas would send himself back. His friend Saul Hass, noticing a far off look in Douglas’ eyes one day, asked him where he had been during the closing arguments. "I told him I had been after trout in the Big Klickitat of the Cascade Mountains in eastern Washington...[and] I assured him I had had wonderful luck." Pressed in on a New York subway, or sitting out fishing in the Everglades, Douglas often found himself searching for the silhouette of Mount Adams on the horizon. Though he could see both Rainier and Adams from his Yakima home, Adams was always his favorite. In his memoirs, Douglas recalled standing in a bare cemetery at his father’s funeral as a scared and distraught five-year-old. Through his tears, Douglas glanced up. "Adams stood cool and calm, unperturbed by an event that had stirred us so deeply that Mother was crushed for years." Later in life, while recovering from a horseback riding accident in the Cascades in which he had broken 23 of 24 ribs, Douglas reflected on his upbringing. "My young experiences in the high Cascades have placed the heavy mark of the mountains on me," he wrote. More than a simple recollection, Douglas’ memory may also have been a subtle hope for future leaders. |
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