This post won’t make sense without reading Part 1 (click to read it).
From our perspective, we were legally recreating on non-wilderness National Forest Service land. We had clipped back some scrub oak (a fast-growing ground-cover plant) to clear landing zones and paths between boulders, the latter in an attempt to minimize random travel and direct all future traffic to singular destinations. We had improved landing zones to make them safer for climbers and less prone to erosion over the long-term. The results were, like any fresh change, quite visible. But we knew from past experience at places like Nosos, that a few months later the alterations would be virtually undetectable. Furthermore, our alterations were less impactful than, for example, the decks built to prevent erosion at the base of sport routes at nearby El Rito, or the traps and snares that are legally set on Forest Service land in the region.
One of the piles of sticks Jim laid across the trail. We hunted for the marker, and found it behind nearby trees.
(Lest my words be misconstrued here, I want to emphasize how minimal these changes are. We didn’t spend weeks gardening up there, because we were more interested in climbing rocks. I’m talking about subtle, simple changes like the ones discussed here.)
Did Jim have a reason to act as angrily and aggressively as he was, or was he just off his rocker?
To settle the trespassing claim, we needed to do our research. I called the county assessor’s office and found out that Jim was technically right: we had been crossing through a hundred or so feet of a sliver of his land, as his property bizarrely extends just beyond the fence. We had been told by other residents that the trail was on public land and fine to use. Until Jim had stacked the brush and the No Trespassing sign, no one was aware that was part of his property, as it wasn’t posted.
The County Assessor sent over this survey, which I painstakingly and amateurishly drew on to illustrate the weirdness of the property boundary.
The pool of climbers who knew about the place was still small; we paused development and told everyone we knew to climb elsewhere until further notice. We felt like we needed to know more about this oddly mysterious town. We kept the lines of communication open with the folks at the community center, and tried to figure out how the rest of the residents felt about our presence there.
A few days later, I was at the community center splitting wood (I had promised the favor before the “Jim Situation” happened) when Jim came by to fill his water jugs. He asked if I was a climber, and when I said yes, he looked at me over the rims of his sunglasses and launched into a 10 minute tirade, spittle flying. The content of the tirade isn’t terribly germane, but I can confirm what Noah said about Jim’s demeanor. He would not listen to reason or apology, accused us of environmental terrorism (he compared our actions to fracking), and made thinly-veiled threats about the town hating outsiders, promising “total war” if we kept coming back.
The church in a different, but similar town. This isn’t small-town like the suburbs, this is small-town-for-real.
A few miles down the road, clear evidence of clear-cutting on Earth: Google Edition
(I know some climbers will find the following quite funny: Among the acts of environmental terrorism that Jim personally accused me of was “ruining Boulder.” That’s where he grew up, and he apparently thinks the place is “trashed” because of climbers. The fact that I’ve never lived there was irrelevant, it was still somehow my fault, so…I hereby apologize to everyone out there for ruining a Front Range city. Also, fracking.)
On one hand, one shouldn’t simply cower to irrational anger. On the other hand, one can’t help but feel isolated and vulnerable while being yelled at in a very quiet town with no police station. The implied threats worked to amplify the risks of climbing there above the level of reward…besides, we had plenty of other quartzite to explore, and a work day at Nosos to cross off the to-do list. After this incident, for all intents and purposes, development ceased on the Peñasco as quickly as it had begun.
What Do We Learn From All This?
Or perhaps the more important question is, how do we avoid this situation in the future?
In actuality, there are two different things going on here, but they aren’t totally separate.
Thing number one is, you can’t win against crazy. There would be no reasoning with Jim. And in any part of this great land, there will be people who cling to their solitude. So be careful out there, especially when exploring remote, isolated places.
Thing number two is, be a good neighbor.
At the start of the Jim Saga, we were upset that this new playground was being threatened by one person who’s only legitimate complaint revolved around a surveying oddity. Some of us were upset by what we perceived as a single fly in our beautiful ointment. But then we ran out of deductions about other people, and began to see things differently…perhaps more objectively.
Our mistakes were the result of being too psyched. We were so psyched that we stayed until dark and hiked out by headlamp. The dogs on the other side of the fence would bark as we walked back to the road. We were so psyched that we would yell exuberantly when we were trying (or sending) projects. We were psyched enough to let ethics drift a little…and we left crashpads and cleaning equipment (ropes, brushes) stashed. We also didn’t clean up the scrub cuttings as well as we should have, especially given the proximity of the town. We made the false assumption that we were the only ones interested in hanging out amongst the boulders.
The US Forest Service built tanks for cattle grazing like the one in the lower right of this photo. Dozens of these tanks can be found in the Carson NF.
Were we legally in the wrong? Well, that isn’t clear. A ranger would have to come through and decide, but given a long history of much more destructive activity in Carson NF (think overgrazing, mining, logging, and the trash dumps that are myriad), it’s likely that a ranger wouldn’t think much of it. But more importantly, were we being…ahem…dickheads? And on that count I think we’d all have to plead guilty.
We had begun the development frenzy when we met the ladies running the community center, and they’d given us their go-ahead. We assumed that they spoke for a community that they didn’t, in fact, represent. None of us stopped to think about the people who lived a few hundred yards from the boulders. When we hiked out at night, the dogs would bark and worry the neighbors. When we yelled, they all heard it. All of a sudden, there were multiple cars parked just outside their town on an almost daily basis, a dramatic change for more people than just Jim, I’m sure.
We were not the only ones who felt threatened out there. The lack of law enforcement presence is a fact for all, including those who have only themselves and their neighbors to call upon if problems arise. We had assumed that the locals all understood our benign intentions, but didn’t verify that fact before our excitement for the boulders took over.
Jim may be an unsavory character, but he also helped snap us out of a daze. The letter of the law is one thing, but when you’re 20 miles from cell reception and far from the field station, it’s important to act in accordance with basic principles of thoughtful behavior. The tiny field office is not going to have agents at the ready to mediate a dispute.
Molly-dog looks on approvingly. “Good rock-stacks, humans. You deserve treats.”
We need to be conscious every step of the way. Climbers like to take ownership of places with rocks, and this can be both good and bad. On one hand, we were doing development work that was thoughtful and forward-thinking, that other climbers will one day appreciate. On the other hand, we quickly felt too “at home,” and we forgot our basic manners.
Now What?
As things stand now, there is a new path that skirts around the part of the trail that was on private property, although Jim has reportedly knocked down the cairns. A FS ranger did in fact visit the site, and apparently Jim yelled at him as well. We (the boulderers) all agreed to meet with the Forest Service, once we have a more coherent plan. In the interim, we are collaborating with Kelly to create a version of The Pact, to be used as a pledge that future visitors to the Peñasco must sign.
In the meantime, we are still avoiding the Peñasco, and ask that you do the same. There’s no law against going there to climb, but as I hope I’ve made clear, there are plenty of places with the same rock, hundreds of first ascents waiting, and not as proximal to local residents. If you need us this spring, we’ll be at one of those places.
