Making Choices

This I choose to do. Where this takes me, there I choose to go.

Terry Pratchett

Like most hikers and backpackers I have long considered myself to be an environmentalist. I remember the first Earth Day in 1970. I was a sophomore in college, and it was a warm spring day. I stood in the commons listening to speakers tell us of various threats to the sanctity of our planet. No one had ever heard of climate change in those days, nor words like carbon footprint and nanoplastic. Gas was about thirty cents a gallon, and gas guzzling automobiles therefore were a source of pride and comfort for many people. I had grown up spending my summer vacations with my family in campsites by pristine rivers with an old canvas tent and fresh trout sizzling over a campfire. The world seemed innocent. These cycles of nature, including the camping trips, I thought would go on forever.

Despite this optimism as a young woman, even then I could not go into wild and beautiful places without simultaneously being reminded of how fragile it all was. Though there were substantially fewer people on the trails in those days, their impact, especially on popular trails, has always been felt. I have been at this long enough to see places I once loved trashed by overuse, the surrounding meadow trampled, cans and piles of human feces left uncovered, and the ground scoured clean by eager builders of fires. Most of this damage is caused by overuse, but it only takes one careless camper to trash an otherwise lovely campsite.

Of course I like to remind myself that my own imprint is a much lighter one. I do not leave my trash scattered about. Every scrap of it is packed out, and I no longer build fires. Still, it would be dishonest to insist that my impact in the wilderness I love is nonexistent. Every time I set foot on a trail, and I do that often, I am having an impact. The ground beneath my feet is packed and hard. The place where I pitch my tent is clear of vegetation. The log on which I sit is worn smooth and lacks moss.

Many years ago I remember seeing a backpack for sale in the window of an outdoors store in Klamath Falls, Oregon. It was made entirely of natural materials, wood for the frame, leather for the pack, created by a local woodworker. The pockets were closed with sturdy zippers. It was a beautiful thing to behold and had the look of fine craftsmanship. It also had the look of being extremely heavy. I have never again seen anything like it. Apparently the all natural backpack did not catch on.

Instead I carry a backpack made from a Bluesign approved fabric, which reportedly means that it is manufactured in facilities that promote a healthy work place and produce less environmental impact. I find this somewhat comforting, though what this means exactly is not clear to me. I do not even know what kind of fabric it is. I do know that it is lightweight and durable, and that matters to me.

Like everyone else I have made choices. I sleep in a down sleeping bag in camp, which keeps me warm and comfortable on cold nights. The down is plucked from goose chicks. I do not like this. I do it anyway. I have never found an artificial fill that I like, and such fills have their own environmental impact.

How do I reconcile these choices? I do not. It is actually easier for me to make responsible choices at home than on the trail, but lately, like many people, I have grown discouraged with these efforts. This past week it has been above one hundred degrees for several days, so the air conditioning is on most of the time to create a comfortable environment for myself and my dog. I am grateful that I have it, that the cool air enables me to drift off to sleep easily at night instead of tossing and turning in sweat soaked sheets, but I know that my comfort demands something from the world.

Lately when it has cooled off sufficiently to sit outside on the back porch I look about me at this fragile world in which I live with such peace, at the pine trees that surround my home, the mountains rising above the lake, the life that I have here in my elder years. In these moments I have come to believe that the most important choice I can make is simply to cherish the world, to bear witness. It is a gift, one I choose to savor everyday of my life.