Reverence, Respect, Reciprocity A Sustainable Future for Recreation Story by Jenni Minier
Recreate [ rek-ree-eyt ]: verb: to give new life or freshness to, refresh. To restore physically or mentally.
O
n a trip across the North Cascades Highway this past autumn I witnessed something that I’d never seen before in my lifetime: 700 cars parked at Rainy Pass. The perfect fall day drew larch lovers from near and far to the Rainy/Maple Pass Loop. This trailhead holds maybe 80 cars at best, so where were the rest? Lining the highway. The speed limit on this highway is 50 MPH
and with car doors being flung open on either side of the road, the situation felt perilous at best. I burst into tears at the spectacle, sobbing something along the lines of there isn’t enough room for all these people in the forest. Through my sobbing I imagined people lined head to tail in a line like cows waiting to be milked, or worse. Aside from whether anyone was wearing a mask or not, the image was dire. We’ve been telling people for a decade now to GET OUTSIDE. Put down yours screens and GO
OUTSIDE. So finally, all at once it felt like people had heard the call. Ironically, my heart wasn’t filled with gratitude for the multitude of potential supporters of public lands. Instead I felt grief. I grieve for the loss of solitude that I seek in the wilds. I grieve for the animals that used to call these wilds their home. I grieve for the secret places that are no longer secret as internet trip reports and social media posts have become ubiquitous. Once hard-to-find sacred places cherished by Indigenous Peoples are now on Instagram. And yet in my sorrow I conceded that, yes, we need people supporting Photo by John D’Onofrio
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The heartbeat of Cascadia
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