[pct-l] Stuck on Stupid

[wayneskraft at comcast.net (Wayne Kraft)]

Many years ago I drove up to what is now a large parking area next to  
the PCT where it crosses US Hwy 26 near Wapinitia Pass just south of  
Mt. Hood.  My objective was to cross country ski up the road to Frog  
Lake Butte which started at the parking lot.  There was at least  
eight feet of snow on the road and piles and piles of fresh powder.   
I could see right off that breaking trail was going to be a chore.   
There were three families in four-wheel-drive rigs in the parking  
lot.  I said "Howdy" as I passed by. I figured they were just having  
themselves a little rest stop.  A few hours later I returned from my  
sojourn on the Butte and as I reached the parking lot I noticed quite  
a bit of noisy activity.  I paused in the shadows to survey what it  
was that I was about to ski through and this is what I saw:  All  
three of these experienced outdoorsmen had decided to drive up the  
road to Frog Lake Buttes.  They had advanced no more than 50 yards  
when all three of their vehicles mired to the axles in soft snow with  
nothing beneath them for traction but more soft snow.  Cable was  
strung everywhere from their attempts to winch themselves out of this  
quagmire. It was clear even to an untrained observer that the group  
had failed to include among its number anyone with a degree in  
engineering.   Bark was stripped off a couple of fir trees and,  
through doubtless prodigious effort, a cable had been strung up and  
over a high branch on one of the trees.  Despite considering the  
situation from every possible angle I could not discern by what  
thought process these woodsmen had concluded that it would improve  
things if they could somehow winch a Jeep CJ-5 up into a fir tree,  
but that appeared to be the plan.  (If any of you have seen the movie  
"The Gods Must Be Crazy" you will have an appropriate image in  
mind.)  The male members of the party were covered in snow up to  
their tonsils and had obviously been learning all about post-holing.   
The kids had commenced to bawling their fool heads off.  The women  
folk were huddled off to one side discussing who would use which  
divorce lawyer, reviewing the finer points of getting restraining  
orders, plotting how to protect their interest in the community  
property double-wide and the like.  The dogs had swum out to the  
plowed parking lot and were pretending they didn't know the homo  
sapiens stuck in the snow.

I considered my options and decided on a course of action.  I let  
loose a whoop and skied straight down the fall line.  When I got  
close I veered off into the trees and commenced skiing big  
looptyloops around their rigs, ducking under their cables and acting  
for all the world like a happy little otter.  I pulled to a stop in  
the midst of the chaos and, with a wide grin, I remarked, "Man, what  
a beautiful day! The snow just gets deeper and better the farther you  
go up the road! You guys are just gonna LOOOOVE the view from the  
top!  But you better quit fooling around down here and get a move on  
'cause it'll be dark and freezin' cold 'fore much longer." Then I  
skied off to my car.

Now, so far as I know there was no law at that time prohibiting these  
gentlemen from driving up the Frog Lakes Butte Road except, of  
course, the laws of physics.  Any idiot could plainly see that the  
road was impassable and, even if you were tempted to give it a go  
anyway, only a flock of itinerant morons would precipitously commit  
all three vehicles to the enterprise at once.  My point is that  
ultimately there is really nothing you can do to stop stupid people  
from abusing the PCT.  You can't stop them with signs because they  
will misread and/or misunderstand them, assuming that reading is a  
skill they've mastered to any degree at all. Most of them are easily  
distracted and I would guess that posting signs at trail heads with  
arrows pointed in some direction other than the PCT and bearing the  
words "Nudist Camp" would greatly reduce the problem.  Ultimately  
though, your hard core, illiterate, scoff-law moron will learn only  
by associating his or her misbehavior with a viscerally nasty  
experience.  It is in the administration of such lessons, carefully  
calculated to stop short of death or serious physical injury, to  
which our creative energy ought to be directed. By way of  
illustration, recall the situation Bill Bryson recounted in his book  
"A Walk in the Woods" in which Bryson and his friend, Katz, were  
literally forced out of a shelter on a stormy night by a group of  
obnoxious morons.  As they walked away from the shelter, Katz proudly  
displayed the laces he had surreptitiously purloined from the boots  
of the bull goose moron of the group.  Yes, that's the sort of thing  
I mean.

Wayne Kraft