are we low priority?
Posted: Sat May 28, 2022 8:20 pm
This is a question I didn't fold into my trip report, due to the sour note (radically incongruous with how I felt about the trip) it struck.
tl;dr: does anybody else feel like the NPS has begun blowing off IR backpackers?
in more detail: I'm wondering if others have the sense that, over the last few years, the park's NPS agents have become less focused on visitors who spend time in the backcountry, and more focussed on visitors (a growing demographic, thanks both to COVID and the uptick in interest in the parks keyed to their 100th anniversary and ancillary developments, like the awesome Ken Burns documentary) who are briefly tagging the park before moving on?
Let me make it abundantly clear that I celebrate visitors of both types! For instance, I *love* seeing the hordes of gawking ``tourists" glutting Yosemite Valley. That was me, age 7, and some of them are, thanks to what the glutting is enabling them to experience, future conservationists. And let me also make it abundantly clear that if IR has limited resources (which surely it does), it makes sense---for reasons easy to extract from the previous sentence---to expend them on the "taggers."
My question is whether that's what's going on. I didn't visit IR in 2020. My previous visits were characterized by concretely informative permitting interactions, and sincere-seeming debriefings by the rangers at the end points, where they asked about (and appeared to listen to answers concerning) trail conditions, wildlife encounters, and (for bookkeeping purposes) discrepancies between my original itinerary and what I'd actually done. Maybe this was brilliant customer service, but it also left me with the impression (that it would be brilliant customer service to cultivate) that my answers might inform what they told other hikers contemplating routes similar to mine, or even ongoing field research.
Last year and this year felt very different. On neither occasion did the person permitting me say anything specific about what to expect. (I had to figure out on my own, the hard way, that sometimes the route through beaver features is marked by tape.) On both occasions, the rangers at my end point were adamantly uninterested in hearing about what I'd seen---even though (although they couldn't possibly have known this, because they didn't ask) last year I'd walked both a little-travelled trail (the spur to Malone, where I wish I'd known about how the tape worked) and a heavily-trafficked one (the GRT), immediately after an epic storm that left a variety of damage they probably wanted to know about, and this year I was fresh off of an early season traverse of the Minong. In both cases, I was storing up elements of the set of things I wished someone had told me before I left. I had answers to the questions they weren't asking. But they weren't asking them.
This year and last, I also felt a heightened indifference (compared to previous years) to the matter of whether I'd stuck to the itinerary I'd been originally given. Last year it was impossible (without repeatedly exploiting spacetime wormholes) to stick to that itinerary. But when I reported to the ranger collecting my permit that my actual itinerary was very different from my projected one, which was extremely weird, he snatched my permit, and said something about it all coming out in the wash. He also refrained from asking followup questions about how many unexpected beaver dams I encountered. This year, I couldn't find anyone (interested in debriefing or not) to submit my permit to. In Windigo we'd been told that if we were finishing in Rock Harbor but taking the Voyageur back, we should turn our permits in to the Windigo rangers when the Voyageur called there. I thought this was implausible, and in the event, no one was let off the boat at Windigo (maybe because the Voyageur was trying to minimize our exposure to the 4 ft waves enhancing our return journey that fonixmunkee has descirbed). When I walked into Rock Harbor at the end of my hike, I encountered some rangers whom I sounded out both about the general question of whether our permits would really be collected at Windigo and about the specific question of whether they wanted to hear fascinating stories about my adventures. About my adventures they were adamantly uninterested (which I would say was fair enough, except for the fact that my past self---the one setting out---would have valued testimony, not conveyed when I got my permit, about what my present self had seen). About the actual permit, they insisted that I could either leave it in a drop box outside the RH visitor center, or submit it when I disembarked (which I didn't) in Windigo. (I wound up leaning out from the bow to inflict it on the backup Windigo ranger, who being an exceedingly good sport, professed to be grateful.)
And while I can't connect the dots, I feel like all of this is of a piece with the dreaded "How Wild Is It?" version of the orientation briefing, which seems better geared to bracing insagrammers for disappointment than backpackers for what they'll actually face. And I feel like it's also of a piece with the ludicrous instructions being issued about how to deal with campsite overcrowding: those who arrive so late that there's literally no space (including in front of shelters, an option that's new this year) in a campground to set up are supposed to retreat to cross country camping zones---even though many of the late arrivals, arriving late having bit off more than they can chew, are in no condition to seek and establish a cross country site
Maybe I've been unlucky/unduly judgemental. What are your reads on these questions?
tl;dr: does anybody else feel like the NPS has begun blowing off IR backpackers?
in more detail: I'm wondering if others have the sense that, over the last few years, the park's NPS agents have become less focused on visitors who spend time in the backcountry, and more focussed on visitors (a growing demographic, thanks both to COVID and the uptick in interest in the parks keyed to their 100th anniversary and ancillary developments, like the awesome Ken Burns documentary) who are briefly tagging the park before moving on?
Let me make it abundantly clear that I celebrate visitors of both types! For instance, I *love* seeing the hordes of gawking ``tourists" glutting Yosemite Valley. That was me, age 7, and some of them are, thanks to what the glutting is enabling them to experience, future conservationists. And let me also make it abundantly clear that if IR has limited resources (which surely it does), it makes sense---for reasons easy to extract from the previous sentence---to expend them on the "taggers."
My question is whether that's what's going on. I didn't visit IR in 2020. My previous visits were characterized by concretely informative permitting interactions, and sincere-seeming debriefings by the rangers at the end points, where they asked about (and appeared to listen to answers concerning) trail conditions, wildlife encounters, and (for bookkeeping purposes) discrepancies between my original itinerary and what I'd actually done. Maybe this was brilliant customer service, but it also left me with the impression (that it would be brilliant customer service to cultivate) that my answers might inform what they told other hikers contemplating routes similar to mine, or even ongoing field research.
Last year and this year felt very different. On neither occasion did the person permitting me say anything specific about what to expect. (I had to figure out on my own, the hard way, that sometimes the route through beaver features is marked by tape.) On both occasions, the rangers at my end point were adamantly uninterested in hearing about what I'd seen---even though (although they couldn't possibly have known this, because they didn't ask) last year I'd walked both a little-travelled trail (the spur to Malone, where I wish I'd known about how the tape worked) and a heavily-trafficked one (the GRT), immediately after an epic storm that left a variety of damage they probably wanted to know about, and this year I was fresh off of an early season traverse of the Minong. In both cases, I was storing up elements of the set of things I wished someone had told me before I left. I had answers to the questions they weren't asking. But they weren't asking them.
This year and last, I also felt a heightened indifference (compared to previous years) to the matter of whether I'd stuck to the itinerary I'd been originally given. Last year it was impossible (without repeatedly exploiting spacetime wormholes) to stick to that itinerary. But when I reported to the ranger collecting my permit that my actual itinerary was very different from my projected one, which was extremely weird, he snatched my permit, and said something about it all coming out in the wash. He also refrained from asking followup questions about how many unexpected beaver dams I encountered. This year, I couldn't find anyone (interested in debriefing or not) to submit my permit to. In Windigo we'd been told that if we were finishing in Rock Harbor but taking the Voyageur back, we should turn our permits in to the Windigo rangers when the Voyageur called there. I thought this was implausible, and in the event, no one was let off the boat at Windigo (maybe because the Voyageur was trying to minimize our exposure to the 4 ft waves enhancing our return journey that fonixmunkee has descirbed). When I walked into Rock Harbor at the end of my hike, I encountered some rangers whom I sounded out both about the general question of whether our permits would really be collected at Windigo and about the specific question of whether they wanted to hear fascinating stories about my adventures. About my adventures they were adamantly uninterested (which I would say was fair enough, except for the fact that my past self---the one setting out---would have valued testimony, not conveyed when I got my permit, about what my present self had seen). About the actual permit, they insisted that I could either leave it in a drop box outside the RH visitor center, or submit it when I disembarked (which I didn't) in Windigo. (I wound up leaning out from the bow to inflict it on the backup Windigo ranger, who being an exceedingly good sport, professed to be grateful.)
And while I can't connect the dots, I feel like all of this is of a piece with the dreaded "How Wild Is It?" version of the orientation briefing, which seems better geared to bracing insagrammers for disappointment than backpackers for what they'll actually face. And I feel like it's also of a piece with the ludicrous instructions being issued about how to deal with campsite overcrowding: those who arrive so late that there's literally no space (including in front of shelters, an option that's new this year) in a campground to set up are supposed to retreat to cross country camping zones---even though many of the late arrivals, arriving late having bit off more than they can chew, are in no condition to seek and establish a cross country site
Maybe I've been unlucky/unduly judgemental. What are your reads on these questions?