Last weekend we took our first family backpack trip to Link Lake in the Upper Whitefish Lake area. My kids stuffed their sleeping bags in their day packs, and Cole and I carried the rest. Our expectations were low for a 5-year-old and a 9-year-old to endure the adventure, but their enthusiasm was at an all-time high, especially after they picked out their own freeze-dried meals in preparation for the trip. Plus, hot cocoa in the morning! It was a short hike with some elevation ups and downs to reach Link Lake and, despite the swarms of mosquitos, the kids were in great spirits when we arrived at the lake and looked for a campsite. As we roamed around the lake looking for a good site, my kids stumbled upon something no one wants to see in the backcountry: an abandoned campfire.
The fire was surrounded by a rock ring and, although there were no longer flames, there were still sizeable, charred log ends hovering above the still hot ashes. Hot enough to likely bake a potato had I had one stuffed in my backpack. It was a hands-on opportunity to talk about campfires while backpacking and how a fire needs to be dead out before leaving the site. The kids used our dog’s portable chow dish as a water bucket and were thrilled to douse the fire, surprised by the steam rising from the ashes and coals when they dumped the first bucket. “Yikes,” they shouted and went back for more water.
Yikes is right, I said, wincing as the hot ashes hissed when the water hit. Fire danger was moderate and, while we’ve experienced wonderful July rains this summer, it was no reason for someone to leave a smoldering fire. It would pour rain in the early hours later that night, nature’s way of adding to our effort, but as I listened to the rain plop on the tent, I wondered: what will it take to teach backcountry land ethics and fire safety? Is it time to charge hikers and trail users for licenses like hunters and anglers? How can we stop loving these cherished public lands to death?
While these thoughts buzzed in my head, punctuated with a few more profane words to highlight my frustration and fear about the abandoned campfire, I recalled what a man said to me a few summers ago while we lamented about finding used toilet paper along the trail and the staggering amount of garbage littered around river put ins. He suggested that every person who becomes a state resident must take a mandatory land ethic class where they learn how to recreate in the outdoors safely and respectfully. Montana’s outdoor recreation is a primary draw to the state, so it’s safe to say that most residents value their time camping, fishing, or hiking. Tourists come by the million to see our national parks and open land. I’m a teacher, so my reflex is education, and I’ve certainly learned a lot about how to be on the trail, from what to do with my human waste to how to bear proof my campsite. This knowledge wasn’t inherent, and I was a kid raised in the outdoors in northern Michigan, but I was unaware that I had to secure my cooler at a frontcountry site in Glacier my first summer. Thanks to a ranger, ready to issue me a ticket, I learned the rules.
Hunters and anglers have long had to pay for their impact on the land and their fees support wildlife habitat and management programs. With the explosion of the outdoor recreation economy, particularly in Montana, perhaps it’s time the state and federal government considers a more comprehensive user fee or recreation tax. This year’s new conservation fee for state lands, costing a mere $8 a year for people 12 years and older, went into effect on July 1, and I’ll be curious to see its impact as the program rolls out. The Montana Conservation License is required for Fish, Wildlife and Parks fishing access sites, state trust lands, wildlife management and habitat protect areas. This might be the start of a larger effort to help financially support these vital public lands and hold users accountable. Montana ranks third in the nation with its outdoor recreation economy, and it’s critical to capitalize on this sector, both from a financial and educational standpoint.
No one wants a campfire to start a dangerous wildfire, and no one wants to continue to see our river access sites trashed. Again, what can we do to prevent these wild places from being loved to death?