Joe and Jane Pavement live in most Colorado cities. They are 18, 23, 35 or maybe in their early 40s. Nice folks. They are excited about new adventures in Colorado’s outdoors. And they don’t understand that the mountains don’t care.
During the summer, Joe and Jane will appear in news stories, like the one about the rescue of a young couple who started hiking up a 14,000-foot peak wearing flip flops and shorts at 2 p.m. in a light rain. Another Joe and Jane took their two apartment-bound dogs for a 15-mile hike on a rocky slope that sliced the dogs’ paws open. There will be cellphone pictures of the bloody pawprints and interviews with outraged animal activists.
And there will be a story about Joe and Jane being carried out on stretchers because of dehydration or hypothermia.
Whatever the story, Joe and Jane experience a “teachable” moment. They aren’t jerks. They just didn’t know. But they learn. And they’ll never do that again. The cold, the thirst or the near-death experience, with or without news coverage, also teaches others to take plenty of water, warm clothing, food and survival gear when heading into the mountains.
I started out as a Jane Pavement. Born in Colorado but raised in urban New York, I came back to Colorado for college and eagerly reclaimed my outdoor heritage. That first winter, I camped with a college outdoor club in an ice cave near Gunnison. My second-hand sleeping bag was thin and had a red flannel lining with a duck pattern. That freezing, sleepless night was soooo educational.
When I turned 30, a broken engagement inspired a month-long solo backpacking trip to Alaska. In a remote campground, Joe and Jane arrived late in an RV, parked next to my tent and left a food pile on their picnic table. Before dawn, I awoke to bears grunting and prodding my tent with their muzzles. Joe and Jane got great pictures of the large brown bears around my tent. The bears left. A wiser Joe and Jane drove away after my tirade.
The recent movie “Wild,” in which a Jane Pavement dons new boots to hike the Pacific Coast Trail, tells the Joe and Jane tale well. Among Colorado’s outdoor adventurers, everyone has a “beginner” story about new boots or drinking from a steam and the wretched night of cramps, stomach heaves and more. There are some problems that a cellphone and a GPS can’t solve.
Over the years, Joe and Jane teach other newbie adventurers. But as crowds take over once-remote places, some Joes and Janes haven’t learned to protect these places they love.
Tons of trash — including human and dog waste — found along trails and in distant backcountry wilderness sites show that Joe and Jane haven’t checked out the “Leave No Trace” Facebook page and learned about outdoor ethics.
So it goes at Conundrum Hot Springs, located near Aspen in the Maroon Bells Wilderness Area. Not everyone can reach the hot springs pools, encircled by 14,000-foot peaks and located above tree line at the end of an 8½-mile hike with a 2,500-foot elevation gain. But hundreds make summer weekend treks, leaving mounds of trash and human waste that foul the pools and stink up the meadows.
Some kind hikers pack out others’ food cartons, bottles, cans and other trash. Forest Service rangers gather bags and bags each week. And there’s a permit system in the works that might limit visitors and require viewing a “Leave No Trace” video.
Certainly losing treasured mountain retreats is as powerful a teacher as a freezing night of stomach calamity.
Deb Frazier is a former reporter with the Rocky Mountain News who was later communications manager at Colorado State Parks.
To send a letter to the editor about this article, submit or check out our for how to submit by e-mail or mail.
