Consuming Nature's Beauty

I enjoy a sunshine rich day full of crisp cold air that invigorates the lungs and freezes my breath in my eye lashes. A good hike through packed snow always proves to be both magical and exciting. I have a rather vivid imagination and it stirs to play beneath the bases of the mountains and along glittering riverbanks of snow and frozen wonders. Any number of fantastical worlds and beasts might exit in this sort of realm, goblins and snow fairies at war, werewolves plundering the night, or ice dragons guarding their hoards.

And, the side of reality is filled with pleasant conversations and complex musings with my husband. He yearns to hear the details of whatever fantasy story is unfolding in my head, and I have gotten much better at sharing. But, I must confess, with the loud crunch and grind of snow underfoot yesterday, much of that was forgotten. I shared the briefest ponderings and they were not much more than a quick sentence.

We trekked along the riverbank for most of our hike, careful to stick to the packed trail, least we fall right through softer snow. In places we could see carved and jutted out chunks of the river or pillars of snow and ice rising like rock formations above the flowing water below. If we stood still long enough, we could hear the gurgle of flowing water. But, for large stretches the river was completely covered and just flowing underneath us somewhere.

Some of the packed trails were less packed and we quickly learned not safe to traverse. At one point my husband broke through and very nearly landed in the river. Jokingly he called, "I found the water." Even the main trail had areas were our feet would sink or break through and send us knee or hip deep into the snow.

You can tell when the packed snow is weaker, there is a hollowness to the underfoot crunch that warns you. Since the danger of a small break through was minimal (we had on both waterproof clothing and boots), it added an exciting sense of accident and risk to the hike. It was not unlike a game of Jenga. But, this is why I would not do these hikes alone. If I were to fall through in a deeper area, there is a chance of getting stuck as one tries to get out and the snow just keeps caving in. We were also wise to check in at the station before beginning the hike, and get advise on which trails were safer for foot travel. I like a safe sense of danger.

In great length, we reached the base of the mountain were the waterfall we had set out to see awaited us. From far out in the trail, you could see the blue hues of it against the snow and trees. Further up, we spied three more frozen falls along the mountain. My heart yearned to climb to each, but I was not prepared with the know how or the equipment for such an undertaking. Nor was I inclined to leave the trail to unestablished areas and create foot traffic that would not exist without my aid.

Hiking the trail, we found moose tracks and several piles of dropping. Sometimes I wonder how much humans have altered the wilderness and the animals in it during their pursuit of enjoying it. Did the moose stick to the man made trails because they are easier to walk upon? Or, did they not influence the great beasts that were well built to trek across the terrain? There is a balance to be found in our appreciation of the wild, and I am often unsure of if it has been found yet. Especially when I see trash or a discarded bag of dog poop, no doubt frozen and almost odorless due to the cold. If they could go through the effort of bringing their dog, they could have gone through the minimal effort to carry the bag back. And poop that is not bagged contaminates the around water bodies in the summers.

The frozen waterfall was something spectacular to see up close. It really reminded me of just how small and insignificant I am to the forces of nature. Frozen water always looks like a complex rock formation, and if Hank Green's argument is to be followed, it is a rock in a way. It is certainly a type of crystallization. As a rock collector, my heart fluttered and swooned at the sight of the green and blue hued ice.

Like we usually did, we talked about what it would have been like to be explorers of less charted land or to have been a native stewarding the mountains. It would have been an exciting and dangerous life. I fear men have destroyed much of the beauty in the world to a degree we will never regain, but I do have hope we can preserve what is left.

The climb up was well packed but pretty steep. Upon reaching the top, we stood in silence for a while, tucked into the edge of the forest. The water flowed from deep within the ice and birds called out to the still air. The world was so quiet and pristine. There was a small trail to our left, veering up to a hidden crevasse. We climbed it, almost on all fours and peeked inside. It was a narrow area that lead behind the waterfall of ice. My husband removed his backpack and began to wiggle inside, careful not to disturb the ice. While neither of us are really above the average stature, myself being under, it was a tight fit.

He quickly realized neither of us would make it past our hips without breaking the ice. So, we accepted that going behind the waterfall was a treasure to be experienced by other smaller humans. Getting back down from the little ledge was more fun than going up. Due to the incline and only slight footholds, I squatted low and mostly slid down. I even let out an gleeful, "Weee."

Below us, we could see approaching hikers and hear their warbled chatter drifting up to us. Wanting to give them their own space to appreciate the view, we plotted our next direction. The main trail continued to the right to appreciate the second half of the waterfall so we followed it. It was less impressive, but just as pretty. And, from this vantage, we had a breathtaking view of the mountains across the river from us. They were bathed in warm sunshine and the usual haze that surrounds mountains was minimal today. At the right angle, my gaze could hold both the frozen wonders and the sharp peaks behind.

I suggested we rest a while longer and eat our snacks. So, we sat in the snow and retrieved the few things we had packed that had not become too frozen to eat. Soft foods on winter hikes are ideal, but I seemed to have forgotten this. We laughed about it and munched on fruit snacks since the granolas were bricks.

Rather suddenly, breaking ice made our heads turns. It sounds exactly like shattering glass. Loud, sharp, and clattering. We looked down and over to the hikers that had joined us as the falls. One had made his way up to the crevasse and was kicking in and breaking the ice so he would fit. I felt my heart clench. We could have done that, but we thought it wrong, disrespectful to the formation and to those who would come after us. The clanging continued for several minutes, and then the man burst through into sight at an opening higher up, grinning and posing for a picture.

My spouse and I voiced our distain about the situation to each other, then packed our lunch and started to head back. As we passed the pair, the woman was wiggle up to the opening to take her photo. The sound of ice being kicked out of the way rang out. Internally I flinched.

I slid down this embankment too, finding a little joy in that moment. Once back on level ground, I glanced back up at the women, she was smiling for her photograph. As we vanished around bends in the trees, I mused to my spouse that this is why loved hiking spots are coveted.

I am not sure I can wrap my mind around the selfishness entitlement we have as a species. What level have we fallen to where we would kick in and destroy something spectacular for a five minute photograph? I am sure that photo will gather many likes across their social media pages and praises of "Ooo" and "Wow", but would a photograph of just the falls with them beside them not have done the same? What's more, they left as soon as they captured what they came to capture. There was no solemn silence of appreciation, just destruction, a quick click, and then the hike back. Is this how we digest nature now?

Perhaps it is foolish to feel so upended over a frozen formation. After all, it will reform next year, and even possibly within this season as the freeze and thaw cycle continues into spring. However, it's the principle of the matter. I am glad we got to appreciate it before more of it was broken. Even in my photographs, you can see where others have kicked in or snapped off pieces that were in their way. This is how we handle nature as a species, decimating and shoving it to the side for our own pleasures rather than respectfully admiring it. Luckily, the ice will return and reform, but the same cannot be said for many structures that fall way side to destructive hands.

For what? The photograph? Will we ever find balance with the world around us, or will it be a constant struggle between those who wish to preserve and those who wish to consume? What glutenous creatures we are, riddled with greed and lust for the land.

These thoughts sat heavy with me on the hike back, and still sit with me today. Surely to appreciate nature and create good hiking trails, there is a level of degradation that must occur. We are no longer in a world where we can enjoy nature without creating a slight impact. But, if we are to continue to hike and interact with nature, we must our best to keep that degradation to a minimal. We must remember to be stewards for the next hiker and the next generations.